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THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN

April to August, 1915


      *      *      *      *      *      *

Other Books by
STANLEY WASHBURN.

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  Price 10s. 6d. net.      _Second Edition._

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  Price 6s.      _Fourth Edition._

London: Andrew Melrose, Ltd.

      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE TSAR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS.

  _Frontispiece._]      [_Photo, Record Press._]


THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN

April to August, 1915, Being the Second Volume of
“Field Notes from the Russian Front”

by

STANLEY WASHBURN

(Special Correspondent of “The Times” with the Russian Armies)

With Photographs by George H. Mewes







London: Andrew Melrose, Ltd.
3 York Street, Covent Garden, W.C.

_The illustrations in this book are from the photographs of_ MR. GEORGE
H. MEWES, _who accompanied Mr. Washburn in all his tours. They are
reproduced here by courtesy of the “Daily Mirror.”_




  Dedication.


  To
  LORD NORTHCLIFFE and the EDITORS of “_The Times_” London
  In Appreciation of a Year of Loyal Support
  and Co-operation.




INTRODUCTION


Many of my friends have urged me not to publish this, the second
volume of Field Notes from the Russian Front, on the ground that the
fortunes of Russia and the Russian armies were on the wane, and that
the optimism which I have always felt has proved itself unfounded by
the events of the past few months. It is for the very reason that
conditions in Russia are momentarily unfavourable that I am glad to
publish this book at this time, as a vindication of my faith and belief
in the common soldiers and officers of an army with which I have been
associated for nearly a year.

During the advances and successes in Galicia and Poland a year ago
I found the Russian troops admirable, and now in the hour of their
reverses and disappointments they are superb. I retract nothing that I
have said before, and resting my faith in the justice of the cause, the
unflinching character of the people, and the matchless courage of the
Russian soldiers, I am glad in this moment of depression to have the
chance to vindicate my own belief in their ultimate victory in the East.

The Russians for more than a year have laboured under innumerable
difficulties. Without munitions, and handicapped in a hundred ways,
they have held themselves intact before the relentless drives of the
most efficient army in the world. Though they have fallen by the
hundreds of thousands, their spirits have not been broken. The loss
of Warsaw and numerous other positions has not shaken their _morale_.
History will record this campaign as one in which character fought
against efficient machinery, and was not found wanting. In the final
issue I have never doubted that character would prevail. When the
Russians get munitions and their other military needs, they will again
advance, and no one who knows the Russian army doubts that within it
lies the capacity to go forward when the time is ripe.

Nothing is more fallacious than to judge the outcome of this campaign
by pins moved backward or forward on the map of Europe. There are great
fundamental questions that lie behind the merely military aspects of
the campaign; questions of morals, ethics, equity, and justice. These
qualities, backed by men of tenacity, courage, and the capacity to
sacrifice themselves indefinitely in their cause, are greater ultimate
assets than battalions and 42-centimetre guns. That the Russians
possess these assets is my belief, and with the fixed opinion that
my faith is well-founded, and that the reverses of this summer are
but temporary and ephemeral phases of this vast campaign, it is with
equanimity and without reservation that I have authorized my publisher
to send these pages to the printer.

The defects of hurriedly written copy are of course apparent in these
notes, but, as in my first volume, it has seemed wiser to publish them
with all their faults, than to wait until the situation has passed and
news from Russia has no moral value.

  STANLEY WASHBURN.

  PETROGRAD, RUSSIA,
  _September 3, 1915_.




CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                                          PAGE

      I  THE FALL OF PRZEMYSL                                       3

     II  WARSAW IN APRIL, 1915                                     41

    III  AN AMERICAN DOCTOR IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY                    53

     IV  GENERAL RUSSKY’S SUCCESSOR                                63

      V  CHECKING UP THE SITUATION IN POLAND                       75

     VI  A VISIT TO THE POSITIONS                                  87

    VII  A SUMMER DAY ON THE RAWKA LINE                            99

   VIII  THE CHANGE OF FRONT IN POLAND AND THE BATTLE OF OPATOV   113

     IX  WITH THE ARMY IN SOUTHERN POLAND                         127

      X  AN AFTERNOON AT THE “POSITIONS”                          141

     XI  HOW THE RUSSIANS MET THE FIRST GAS ATTACK                157

    XII  SOME DETAILS REGARDING THE GAS HORROR                    169

   XIII  THE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE                                  185

    XIV  THE GALICIAN FRONT                                       199

     XV  THE GERMAN DRIVE IN GALICIA                              209

    XVI  THE FRONT OF IVANOV                                      221

   XVII  HUNTING FOR THE ARMY OF THE BUKOVINA                     235

  XVIII  THE RUSSIAN LEFT                                         247

    XIX  WITH A RUSSIAN CAVALRY CORPS                             259

     XX  ON THE ZOTA LIPA                                         273

    XXI  A VISIT TO AN HISTORIC ARMY                              289

   XXII  THE NEW ARMY OF THE FORMER DUNAJEC LINE                  301

  XXIII  BACK TO THE WARSAW FRONT                                 311

   XXIV  THE LOSS OF WARSAW                                       319

    XXV  CONCLUSION                                               339




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                         TO FACE
                                                            PAGE

  His Imperial Majesty the Tsar of all the Russias    _Frontis_.

  Occupation of Przemysl by the Russians. Austrians
      leaving as prisoners                                     4

  Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl}                         6
                                     }
  Russian occupation of Przemysl     }

  Cossack patrol entering Przemysl                    }
                                                      }
  Russian occupation of Przemysl. Governor’s bodyguard}        8
      entering Government House                       }

  Destroyed by the Austrians before leaving Przemysl}
                                                    }         12
  Principal street in Przemysl                      }

  Austrian and Hungarian prisoners en route to Lwow           14

  Austrian prisoners resting by the roadside during their
      march from Przemysl                                     17

  Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl                         20

  Russian Governor of Przemysl                                33

  Russian occupation of Przemysl. Headquarters of Staff       35

  Feeding Austrian prisoners en route to Lwow                 37

  General Hubert, Chief of Austrian Staff in Przemysl         38

  A Russian officer inspecting eight-inch gun                 44

  Russian bath train                                          48

  The Emperor with his Staff                          }
                                                      }       56
  Russian nurses attend to the feeding of the soldiers}

  Russian soldiers performing their native dance              68

  The Polish Legion. Note the small boy in the ranks as
      mascot                                                  76

  The Vistula (winter)                                        80

  Russian officers in an artillery observation position       92

  A first-line trench in Poland                              104

  Russian General inspecting his gunners                     106

  Telephoning to the battery from the observation position   108

  In the trenches near Opatov                                116

  Second-line trenches, Opatov                               118

  A second-line trench near Opatov                           122

  A Russian first-line trench near Lublin}
                                         }   _between_ 128 & 129
  German position near Lublin            }

  March-past of the Gonogoriski Regiment                     130

  Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment cheering King George V     132

  Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment                            134

  Howitzer battery in Poland                                 142

  Cossacks on the Dniester. Officers’ quarters in the woods  144

  The Polish Legion                                          150

  The colours of the Siberians                               164

  Respirator drill in the trenches}
                                  }                          172
  Austrians leaving Przemysl      }

  Siberians returning from the trenches                      178

  General Brussilov                                          213

  General Ivanov              }
                              }                              222
  My car in a Galician village}

  G. H. Mewes                                                248

  Stanley Washburn, Prince Oblensky, Count Tolstoy,
      Count Keller                                           251

  Cossacks dancing the Tartars’ native dance                 254

  H.I.H. The Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch,
      Commander of two divisions of Cossacks                 261

  The Russian soldier at meal-time. Ten men share the
      soup                                                   268

  Cavalry taking up position                  }
                                              }              280
  Russian band playing the men to the trenches}

  After the Russian evacuation of Lwow. The Bug
      Lancers retreating in good order                       290

  A Russian eight-inch gun going into position during the
      fighting round Lublin                                  302

  Russian artillery officers in an observation position
      during the fighting round Lublin                       306

  Retreat from Warsaw. Burning crops                     }
                                                         }   312
  The retreat from Warsaw. A Jewish family leaving Warsaw}

  Retreat from Warsaw. A Polish Jew                          314

  The evacuation of Warsaw. Copper and bells were all
      taken away                                             316

  The retreat from Warsaw                                    319

  The retreat from Warsaw. Ammunition on the road            320

  During the retreat from Warsaw}
                                }                            322
  Russian armoured motor-car.   }

  The retreat from Warsaw. Wounded in a barn outside
      Warsaw                                                 324

  The retreat from Warsaw. German prisoners housed
      in a barn                                              326

  The retreat from Warsaw. Artillery on the road             328

  During the retreat from Warsaw. Note wounded man in
      foreground                                             330

  The retreat from Warsaw. One of the last regiments to
      pass through Warsaw                                    332

  Siberians leaving the last trench before Warsaw            334

  A batch of German prisoners captured during the retreat
      from Warsaw                                            339

  Refugees on the road to Brest-Litovsk                      340

  Roll call during the retreat from Warsaw. All that was
      left of them                                           342

  Resting during the retreat from Warsaw                     344

  Wounded returning to Warsaw        }
                                     }                       346
  On the banks of the River Dniester }




THE FALL OF PRZEMYSL




CHAPTER I

THE FALL OF PRZEMYSL

  Dated:
  LWOW, GALICIA,
  _April 1, 1915_.


I

The news of the fall of Przemysl reached Petrograd on the morning of
March 23, and the announcement was given out by the War Office at
noon. The spring is very late in Russia this year, and so much snow
and such intense cold have not been known so late in March for more
than a hundred years. On the 23rd it was snowing heavily in Petrograd
and a biting wind was sweeping through the streets. Save for an
occasional street car and foot passengers the Moika and even the Nevsky
Prospekt were at noon almost as empty as at midnight. And then came the
announcement that the great fortress in Galicia had fallen. In an hour
the news was all over the town and in spite of the inclement weather
the streets were thronged with eager Russians, from Prince to Moujik,
anxiously asking each other if the news which had been so long promised
could really be true. The fall of Przemysl it must be remembered had
been reported at least a dozen times in Petrograd before this.

There are people in as well as out of Russia, who like to say that the
man in the street over here cares nothing for the war and knows less,
but on this particular day these people were silent. It was no wonder.
If ever a people genuinely rejoiced over good news it was the citizens
of all classes of Russia’s capital when it became known that Przemysl
was at last in Russian hands. By three in the afternoon, crowds had
organized themselves into bands, and with the Russian flag waving in
front, and a portrait of the Czar carried before, dozens of bands
marched through the streets chanting the deep-throated Russian National
anthem; one of the most impressive hymns in the world.

Though the snow was still falling and a nipping wind blowing, thousands
of the crowds that now perambulated the streets stood bareheaded in the
blast as each procession passed. Old retired generals of seventy and
more stood at rigid attention as the portrait of their monarch and the
flag of their nation was borne past. Moujiks, princes, men and women,
the aged and the young alike, displayed the same spirit of ardour
and enthusiasm as each demonstration came down the street. While it
is true that there is not in Russia what we in the West call public
opinion, yet a stranger living here during this war comes to feel that
there is growing up a spirit that is uniting all classes. This is the
great hope for the war. It is also Russia’s hope for the future. In
another generation it is destined to bring forth greater progress and
unity than the Empire of the Czar has ever known.

[Illustration: Occupation of Przemysl by the Russians. Austrians
leaving as prisoners. The Russians entering the town.]

The people of Petrograd have followed the war much more closely than
one would have believed possible. Over here there has been action from
the day the war started, and hardly a month when gigantic movements of
some sort or other have not been under weigh. Petrograd has been called
on again and again to furnish new troops, and from September until
to-day there has not been a week that one could not see new troops
drilling in the streets. Russia has had great successes and great
setbacks, but each alike strengthens the same stubborn determination to
keep pressing forward.

There was great disappointment when the Russian army withdrew a few
weeks ago from East Prussia, but it began to abate when it became known
that the German advance was checked. The Russians, as is their habit,
had pulled themselves together, and slowly but surely were pushing
back the invader just as they did in the dreary days following the
Samsonov disaster in the first days of the war. Then came the news of
Galicia and the greatest single success that the war has brought to any
of the Allies, or for that matter to any of the belligerent powers.
When the details of the numbers of the captured began to leak out, the
importance of the success was first realized, and not without reason
did the Russians begin to allude to the fall of Przemysl as a second
Metz. It was generally believed that the garrison shut up within the
fortress did not total above 50,000 men, and none were more surprised
than the victors, when they learned that more than 131,000 soldiers and
nearly 4,000 officers had fallen into their hands, not to mention a
number of guns of all calibres amounting probably to above 300. These
unfortunately have been rendered useless by the Austrians and must be
charged as a heavy loss to them rather than as any direct military
asset gained by the Russians.

[Illustration: Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl.]

[Illustration: Russian occupation of Przemysl. Austrian officers pay a
last visit to the Russian head-quarters before leaving for Lwow.]

Well may the Russians take pride in what their new army has
accomplished, for one must go back to the taking of Plevna to find
any such landmark in the history of Russian siege operations. The
last great siege in Muscovite history was that of Port Arthur,
and one cannot but contrast the state of matters in Russia ten years
ago, and now. Port Arthur fell after a long series of disasters to
the Russian arms, and the people all over the Empire received the
tidings without interest and with that dumb resignation to disaster
that is characteristic of their fatalistic temperament. A spirit of
hopelessness and despondency and pessimism pervaded every class of
Russian society. Announcements of new defeats were heard without
surprise and almost without interest. “Of course, what do you expect?”
one would hear on all sides, “Russian troops never win.” But now there
is quite a different point of view. Even the moujik has come to feel a
pride and confidence in his army and in its victories. Their successes
are his successes, and their defeats are his defeats.

One who takes interest in studying the psychology of countries comes
to realize that pride of race and confidence in one’s blood is the
greatest asset that any nation can possess. Throughout Russia, the
cause in which her Armies are engaged has come to be more nearly
understood than any war she has ever engaged in. It is not true of
course that the peasant knows as much as does the British Tommy; nor
is there anything like the same enlightenment that prevails in the
Western Armies. But in fairness to Russia she must not be judged from a
Western standpoint, but compared with herself ten years ago.

As has been written by a dozen writers from Russia in the last six
months the new spirit was crystallized when the war began. It has had
its ups and its downs with the varying reports from the Front, but as
each defeat has been turned into a stepping stone for a subsequent
advance, public confidence has gradually mounted higher and higher,
until, with the fall of Przemysl, we find Russian sentiment and
confidence in Russia at probably the highest point that has ever been
reached in the history of the Empire. The dawn of the new day of which
we hear so much over here now, bears every indication of being the
beginning of the much heralded new Era in this country.


II

Galicia is still under martial law, and one cannot even enter the new
Russian province without a permit issued by the General Staff. It is
of course even more difficult for one to get into the actual theatre
of war. A wire, however, from the Staff of the Generalissimo to the
powers that be in Petrograd, made the way to Przemysl possible, and
a few days after the fortress had fallen the writer reached Lwow.
The Russian-gauged railroad has been pushed south of the old frontier
line to the town of Krasne, famous as the centre of the battle-line of
Austrian defence in the days when the armies of Russky were pushing on
toward Lwow.

[Illustration: Cossack patrol entering Przemysl.]

[Illustration: Russian occupation of Przemysl. Governor’s bodyguard
entering Government House.]

It was originally intended to widen the Austrian tracks to take the
Russian rolling stock, so that trains might proceed direct to the
capital of Galicia; but it was found that the expense of carrying
on operations which meant the widening of every bridge and the
strengthening of every culvert and elevated way, to take the heavier
equipment, would involve time and expense scarcely less than building
a new line complete. The result is that one still changes carriages
some distance out of Lwow, a handicap that is trifling for passenger
traffic, but involving very real inconvenience and delays in the
handling of the vast amount of freight and munitions that go to supply
the huge armies in the field in Galicia.

Lwow itself is no longer the dismal place that it was in the early
autumn when almost every public building was a hospital, and the
station a receiving depot for the thousands of fresh wounded that
poured in by train-loads from the positions on the San and from the
trenches before Przemysl, which was just then undergoing its first
investment. Where stretchers and throngs of wounded formerly filled
every available foot of ground in the huge terminus a few months ago,
all is now orderly and very much as in the days before the war. The
hotels which in October were filled to overflowing with officers and
Red Cross nurses, are now comparatively quiet, and the city itself,
barring troops going through and prisoners coming from Przemysl, is not
far from normal. A few hours after arriving the writer was received by
Count Brobinsky, who frankly expressed his delight and relief at the
capture of the Galician fortress.

There are of course a large number of Austrians in Galicia, and ever
since the Russian occupation in September a pro-German-Austrian
propaganda has been kept up here. Every reverse to the Dual Alliance
has been minimized as much as possible, and every effort was subtly
made by the German-Austrian agents of the enemy to prevent the peasants
and that portion of the population here which sympathizes with the
Russians, from co-operating in the new régime. They were assured
that soon the Austrians would be coming back, and fears of reprisals
when the day came have no doubt restrained a large number of Little
Russians, Poles and others from openly supporting the efforts of
the new government to restore Galicia to its normal state. But with
each month it has become increasingly difficult for the Austrian
sympathizers to make the public believe that the Russian occupation was
only a temporary wave that would shortly recede. Austro-German advances
in Bukowina, and the really serious aggressive attempts through the
Carpathians no doubt helped to render conditions unsettled. Then
came the check of the Austrian advance in Bukowina and the gradual
reclaiming by the Russians of the ground lost at the first impetus
of the enemy’s offensive. This was followed by the failure of the
relieving column to make satisfactory headway toward its objective at
Przemysl.

In spite of all these very obvious failures to achieve any definite
advantage over the Russians, the spirits of the anti-Russian element
were kept buoyed up by the spectacle of the great fortress in Galicia
still holding out. “As long as Przemysl stands out there is hope,”
seems to have been the general opinion of all who wished ill to the
Russians. Thus the fortress, which at the outset might have been
abandoned with small loss of prestige to the Austrians, gradually
came to have a political as well as military significance of the most
far reaching importance. In the general crash after the battle of
the Grodek line, the loss of a town which until then had never been
heard of in the West, outside of military circles, would have escaped
anything more than passing comment. Not until the Russian armies had
actually swept past its trenches and masked its forts, did the world
at large know that such a place was on the map; even then the greatest
interest manifested was in the vexed question as to how its name was
pronounced, if indeed it could be done at all, an opinion which was
held by not a few people. This place which could have been given up
earlier in the war without any important sacrifice was held tenaciously
and became one of the vital points of strategy in the whole campaign.
An army which turned out to be a huge one, was isolated from the field
armies of Austria at a time when she needed every able-bodied man that
she could get; and Przemysl, which, as we see now, was doomed from the
start, was allowed to assume an importance in the campaign which made
its fall not only a severe military loss but a blow to the hopes of the
Austrians, both at home and in Galicia. The fall of this fortress has
gone further towards shattering any hopes of ultimate victory that have
been entertained than anything that has occurred since the war started.

[Illustration: Destroyed by the Austrians before leaving Przemysl.]

[Illustration: Principal street in Przemysl.]

As Count Brobinsky, who for six months now has been straggling to
readjust Galicia to the normal, said, his task has now been enormously
simplified, and there is scarcely an element left here that now
believes there is any chance of Austria winning back her lost province.
The Austrian agents have abandoned hope, and the Russian sympathizers
are now openly declaring their loyalty to the new régime. There is,
however, a class of bureaucrats left here aggregating, I am informed,
nearly 40,000 in number. This class is composed of Poles, Austrians
and others who for generations have been holding the best offices at
the disposal of the Vienna government. These are of course, almost to
a man, out of their lucrative posts, and represent the element that
has most vigorously, if quietly, attempted to undermine the activities
of the government installed here by Russia. But even these see in the
collapse of their great fortress the evaporation of their chief hopes.

As Galicia is still under martial law, all the motor cars have been
taken over by the military authorities and so, even armed with passes
and permits, we found it all but impossible to reach Przemysl. The
best horses here are in the army service, and the few skinny horses
attached to the cabs find it difficult even to stagger from the station
to the hotel, and it was out of the question to go by carriage the
94 kilometres to Przemysl. But when we told Count Brobinsky of our
difficulties, he solved them by promptly placing a huge military
touring car at our disposal; he further paved the way for a pleasant
trip to the scene of the Russian achievement by giving us a personal
letter of introduction to General Atrimanov, the new Russian commandant
of the captured fortress.


III

The spring is late here as it is throughout Russia this year, and
it was snowing heavily as our big touring car, with a soldier as
chauffeur, threaded its way in the early morning through the narrow
streets of Lwow and out into the open country which was now almost
white. Before we have been twenty minutes on the road we begin to pass
occasional groups of dismal wretches in the blue uniform which before
this war was wont to typify the might of the Hapsburgs, but which now
in Galicia is the symbol of dejection and defeat. Through the falling
snow they plod in little parties of from three to a dozen; evidently
the rear guard of the column that went through yesterday, for they are
absolutely without guards, and are no doubt simply dragging on after
their regiments.

[Illustration: Austrian and Hungarian prisoners en route to Lwow.]

From Lwow almost due west runs the line of the highway to Grodek
where we get our first glimpse of prisoners in bulk. Here, at the
scene of some of the fiercest fighting that the war has produced, is
a rest station for the columns that are making the journey to Russian
captivity on foot from Przemysl to Lwow, and I know not how far beyond.
As we motor into the town the three battalions of the 9th Hungarian
regiment of the 54th Landsturm brigade are just straggling into the
town from the west. With a few Russians who seem to be acting as guides
and nurses rather than as guards, they file through the streets and
into a great square of a barracks. Here they are marshalled in columns
of four, and marched past the door of the barracks where an official
counts the individual fours and makes a note of the number that have
passed his station. Beyond in a grove the ranks are broken, and the
weary-looking men drop down under the trees, regardless of the snow and
mud, and shift their burdens and gnaw at the hunks of bread and other
provisions furnished them by the Russians.

It is hard to realize that the haggard despondent rabble that we see
has ever been part of an actual army in being. Most of them were
evidently clothed for a summer campaign, and their thin and tattered
uniform overcoats must have given but scant warmth during the winter
that has passed. The line is studded with civilian overcoats, and
many of the prisoners have only a cap or a fragment of a uniform
which identifies them as ever having been soldiers at all. The women
of the village pass up and down the line giving the weary troops
bits of provision not in the Russian menu. All the men are wan and
thin, with dreary hopelessness written large upon their faces, and a
vacant stare of utter desolation in their hollow eyes. They accept
gladly what is given and make no comment. They get up and sit down as
directed by their guards, apparently with no more sense of initiative
or independence of will than the merest automatons. We pause but a few
minutes, for the roads are bad and we are anxious to get over the muddy
way as quickly as possible.

The western portion of Grodek was badly knocked up by shell fire during
the battle in September, and the barren walls of charred buildings
remain to tell the story of the Austrian effort to stay the tide of the
Russian advance that swept them out of position after position during
the first weeks of the war. Grodek was reported to have been utterly
destroyed at the time, but as a fact, not more than one-fifth of the
buildings were even damaged by the artillery fire.

[Illustration: Austrian prisoners resting by the roadside during their
march from Przemysl.]

Just east of Sadowa Wisznia, the scene of another Austrian stand, we
come upon a regiment attached to the 54th Landsturm brigade. This is
the tenth regiment, and, with the exception of a few non-commissioned
officers, is composed entirely of Slovaks and Hungarians. They are
resting as we motor up, and for nearly a mile they are sitting
dejectedly by the side of the road, some with heads resting wearily
against tree trunks, while dozens of others are lying in the snow and
mud apparently asleep. As nearly as I could estimate, there is about
one Russian to a hundred prisoners. In any case one has to look about
sharply to see the guards at all. It reminds one a bit of trying to
pick a queen bee out of a swarm of workers. Usually one discovers the
guard sitting with a group of prisoners, talking genially, his rifle
leaning against the trunk of a tree near by.

We stopped here for about half an hour while I walked about trying
to find some prisoners who could speak German, but for the most part
that language was unknown to them. At last I discovered a couple of
non-commissioned officers, who, when they heard that I was an American,
opened up and talked quite freely. Both took great pride in repeating
the statement that Przemysl could never have been taken by assault, and
that it had only surrendered because of lack of food.

One of the men was from Vienna and extremely pro-German in his point
of view. He took it as a matter of course that the Austrians were
defeated everywhere, but seemed to feel a confidence that could not be
shaken in the German troops. He knew nothing of the situation outside
of his own garrison, and when told of Kitchener’s new British Army,
laughed sardonically. “It is a joke,” he said, “Kitchener’s army is
only on paper, and even if they had half a million as they claim to
have, they would be of no use. The English cannot fight at all.” When
told that over two million men had been recruited in the British Empire
he opened his eyes a bit, but after swallowing a few times he came
back, “Well even if they have it does not matter. They can’t fight.”

The other man whom I questioned was mainly interested in how long the
war was going to last. He did not seem to feel any particular regret
at the fall of the fortress, nor to care very much who won, as long as
it would soon be over so that he could go home again. As for the rank
and file I think it perfectly safe to suggest that not one in a hundred
has any feeling at all except that of hopeless perpetual misery. They
have been driven into a war for which they care little, they have
been forced to endure the hardships of a winter in the trenches with
insufficient clothing, a winter terminating with a failure of food
supplies that brought them all to the verge of starvation. The fall
of the fortress means to them three meals of some sort a day, and
treatment probably kinder than they ever got from their own officers.
They are at least freed from the burden of war and relieved of the
constant menace of sudden death which has been their portion since
August.

The road leading west from Sadowa Wisznia is in fearful condition
owing to the heavy traffic of the Russian transport, and in places the
mud was a foot deep. The country here is flat with occasional patches
of fir and spruce timber. It is questionable if there ever was much
prosperity in this belt; and since it has been swept for six months by
contending armies, one cannot feel much optimism as to what the future
has in store for the unfortunate peasants whose homes are destroyed,
and whose live stock is said to have been taken off by the Austrians as
they fell back before the Russians.


IV

One’s preconceived idea of what a modern fortress looks like vanishes
rapidly as one enters Przemysl. In time of peace it is probable that
a layman might pass into this town without suspecting at all that
its power of resisting attack is nearly as great as any position in
all Europe. Now, of course, innumerable field works, trenches, and
improvised defences at once attract the attention; but other than these
there is visible from the main road but one fortress, which, approached
from the east is so extremely unpretentious in appearance that it is
doubtful if one would give it more than a passing glance if one were
not on the lookout for it.

Przemysl itself is an extremely old town which I believe was for nearly
1,000 years a Russian city. From remote days of antiquity it has been
a fortress, and following the ancient tradition, each successive
generation has kept improving its defences until to-day it is in
reality a modern stronghold. Why the Austrians have made this city,
which in itself is of no great importance, the site of their strongest
position, is not in the least obvious to the layman observer. The town
itself, a mixture of quaint old buildings and comparatively modern
structures, lies on the east bank of the river San--which at this point
is about the size of the Bow river at Calgary, in Canada--and perhaps
3 kilometres above the point where the small stream of the Wiar comes
in from the south. The little city is hardly visible until one is
almost upon it, so well screened is it by rolling hills that lie all
about it. Probably the prevailing impression in the world has been that
the Russian great guns have been dropping shells into the heart of
the town; many people even in Lwow believe it to be in a half-ruined
condition. As a matter of fact the nearest of the first line of forts
is about 10 kilometres from the town itself, so that in the whole siege
not a shell from the Russian batteries has fallen in the town itself.
Probably none has actually fallen within 5 kilometres of the city.
There was therefore no danger of the civilian population suffering
anything from the bombardment while the outer line of forts held as
they did from the beginning.

[Illustration: Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl.]

The only forts or works which we were given the opportunity of seeing,
were those visible from the road, the authorities informing us that
they had reason to believe that many of the trenches and positions
were mined, and that no one would be permitted in them until they had
been examined by the engineers of the army and pronounced safe. If the
works seen from the road are typical of the defences, and I believe
they are, one can quite well realize the impregnable nature of the
whole position. The road from Lwow comes over the crest of a hill and
stretches like a broad ribbon for perhaps 5 kilometres over an open
plain, on the western edge of which a slight rise of ground gives the
elevation necessary for the first Austrian line. To the north of the
road is a fort, with the glacis so beautifully sodded that it is hardly
noticeable as one approaches, though the back is dug out and galleried
for heavy guns. Before this is a ditch with six rows of sunken barbed
wire entanglements, and a hundred yards from this is another series of
entanglements twelve rows deep, and so criss-crossed with barbed wire
that it would take a man hours to cut his way through with no other
opposition.

To the right of the road runs a beautifully constructed line of modern
trenches. These are covered in and sodded and buried in earth deep
enough to keep out anything less than a 6-inch field howitzer shell
unless it came at a very abrupt angle. To shrapnel or any field gun
high explosive shell, I should think it would have proved invulnerable.
The trench itself lies on a slight crest with enough elevation to
give loop holes command of the terrain before. The field of fire
visible from these trenches is at least 4 kilometres of country,
and so perfectly cleared of shelter of all sorts that it would be
difficult for a rabbit to cross it unseen. The ditch and two series
of wire entanglements extend in front of the entire position. This
line is, I believe, typical of the whole outer line of fortifications,
which is composed of a number of forts all of which are tied together
with the line of trenches. The outer line is above 40 kilometres
in circumference, from which it may be judged to what great expense
Austria has been put in fortifying this city. I was not able to get any
accurate information as to the number of guns which the Austrians have
on their various positions, but the opinion of a conservative officer
was, that, excluding machine guns, there were at least 300 and possibly
a greater number. The inventory has not yet been completed by the
Russians. These are said to range in calibre from the field piece up to
heavy guns of 30 centimetres. I was informed that there were a few 36
and one or two of the famous 42 centimetres here when the war started,
but that the Germans had borrowed them for their operations in the
West. In any case it is hard to see how the big guns, even of the 30
centimetres, would be of any great value to a defence firing out over a
crest of hills in the distant landscape behind which, in an irregular
line of trenches, an enemy lay.

After a few experiments against the works, the Russians seem to have
reached the conclusion that it would not be worth while even to attempt
carrying the trenches by assault. Indeed, in the opinion of the writer
neither the Russians nor any other troops ever could have taken them
with the bayonet; the only method possible would have been the slow
and patient methods of sapping and mining which was used by the
Japanese at Port Arthur. But methods so costly, both in time and lives,
would seem to have been hardly justified here because, as the Russians
well knew, it was merely a question of time before the encircled
garrison would eat itself up, and the whole position would then fall
into their hands without the cost of a single life.

The strategic value of Przemysl itself was in no way acutely delaying
the Russian campaigns elsewhere, and they could afford to let the
Austrian General who shut himself and a huge army up in Przemysl, play
their own game for them, which is exactly what happened. There was no
such situation here as at Port Arthur, where the menace of a fleet in
being locked up in the harbour necessitated the capture of the Far
Eastern stronghold before the Russian second fleet could appear on the
scene and join forces with it. Nor was there even any such important
factor as that which confronted the Germans at Liège. To the amateur it
seems then that the Austrians, with eyes open, isolated a force which
at the start must have numbered nearly four army corps, in a position
upon which their programme was not dependent, and under conditions
which made its eventual capture a matter of absolute certainty
providing only that the siege was not relieved from without by their
own armies from the South.

The lesson of Przemysl may be a very instructive one in future wars.
The friends of General Sukomlinoff, the Russian Minister of War, are
claiming with some reason that what has happened here is a vindication
of the Minister’s theory, that fortresses in positions which are not
of absolute necessity to the military situation should never be built
at all, or should be abandoned at the inception of war rather than
defended unwisely and at great cost. It is claimed that if the Warsaw
forts had not been scrapped some years ago, the Russian Army to-day
would be standing a siege, or at least a partial siege, within the
city, rather than fighting on a line of battle 40 kilometres to the
west of it. Port Arthur is perhaps an excellent example of the menace
of a fortified position of great strength. So much had been done to
make that citadel impregnable that the Russians never dreamed of giving
it up. The result was that a position, which was doomed to succumb
eventually, was made the centre of all the Russian strategy. For months
the army in the North was forced to make attempt after attempt to
relieve the position, with the results that they lost probably four
times the number of the garrison in futile efforts to relieve it. A
fortress which has cost large sums of money must be defended at any
cost to justify the country that has incurred the expense. Forces
which can probably be ill spared from field operations are locked up
for the purpose of protecting expensive works which, as in the case of
Przemysl, yield them little or nothing but the ultimate collapse of
their defence, and the consequent demoralization of the field armies
which have come to attach an importance to the fortress which, from a
strategic point of view, it probably never possessed.


V

The last few kilometres of the road into Przemysl was alive with
Russian transport plodding into the town, but the way was singularly
free from troops of any sort. With the exception of a few Cossack
patrols and an occasional officer or orderly ploughing through the mud,
there was nothing to indicate that a large Russian army was in the
vicinity. It is possible that it has already been moved elsewhere; in
any case we saw nothing of it.

Between the outer line of forts and the Wiar river are a number of
improvised field works, all of which looked as though they could stand
a good bit of taking, but of course they were not as elaborate as the
first line. The railroad crosses the little Wiar on a steel bridge,
but the bridge now lies a tangle of steel girders in the river. It is
quite obvious that the Austrian commander destroyed his bridges west
of the town because they afforded direct communications with the lines
beyond; but the bridge over the Wiar has no military value whatsoever,
the others being gone, save to give convenient _all rail_ access to
the heart of Przemysl itself. The town was given up the next day and,
as the natural consequence of the Austrian commander’s conception of
his duty, all food supplies had to be removed from the railway trucks
at the bridge, loaded into wagons, and make the rest of the journey
into the town in that way, resulting in an absolutely unnecessary delay
in relieving the wants of the half-famished garrison within. The only
bright spot that this action presents to the unprejudiced observer
is that it necessitated the dainty, carefully-shod Austrian officers
walking three kilometres through the mud before they could embark on
the trains to take them to the points of detention for prisoners in
Russia. There cannot be the slightest doubt that the rank and file of
the garrison were actually on the verge of starvation, and that the
civilian population were not far from the same fate. As near as one can
learn the latter consisted of about 40,000 persons. I am told that
the prisoners numbered 131,000 men and some 3,600 officers, and that
perhaps 20,000 have died during the siege from wounds and disease.
This, then, makes a population at the beginning of nearly 200,000 in
a fortification which, as experts say, could have easily been held by
50,000 troops. One officer even went so far as to declare that in view
of the wonderful defensive capacity of the position 30,000 might have
made a desperate stand. The fortress was thus easily three times over
garrisoned. In other words there were perhaps at the start 150,000
mouths to feed in the army alone, when 50,000 men would have been
able to hold the position. This alone made the approach of starvation
sure and swift. The fact that in this number of men there were 3,600
officers, nine of the rank of General, indicates pretty clearly
the extent to which the garrison was over officered. Kusmanek, the
commander of the fortress, is said to have had seventy-five officers on
his personal staff alone.

As far as one can learn there was no particular pinch in the town until
everything was nearly gone, and then conditions became suddenly acute.
It is improbable that economy was enforced in the early dispensing of
food supplies, and the husbanding of such resources as were at hand.
When the crisis came, it fell first upon the unfortunate soldiers, with
whom their officers seem to have little in common. Transport horses
were killed first, and then the cavalry mounts went to the slaughter
house to provide for the garrison. The civilians next felt the pinch
of hunger, and every live thing that could nourish the human body was
eaten. Cats I am told were selling at ten kr. each and fair-sized
dogs at twenty-five kr. The extraordinary part of the story is that
according to evidence collected from many sources the officers never
even changed their standards of living. While the troops were literally
starving in the trenches, the dilettantes from Vienna, who were in
command, were taking life easily in the Café Sieber and the Café Elite.
Three meals a day, fresh meat, wines, cigarettes and fine cigars were
served to them up to the last.

One of the haggard starved-looking servants in the hotel where I was
quartered told me that several of the staff officers lived at the
hotel. “They,” he said, “had everything as usual. Fresh meat and all
the luxuries were at their disposal until the last. Yet their soldier
servant used to come to me, and one day when I gave him half of a bit
of bread I was eating, his hands trembled as he reached to take it from
me.” My informant paused and then concluded sardonically, “No, the
officers did not suffer. Not they. It was cafés, billiards, dinners and
an easy life for them to the end. But the rest of us. Ah, yes, we have
suffered. Had the siege lasted another week we should all have been
black in the face for want of food.”

An Austrian sister who had been working in the hospital confirmed
the story. “Is it true that people were starving here?” I asked her.
“Indeed it is true,” she told me, “the soldiers had almost nothing and
the civilians were little better off. As for us in the hospitals--well,
we really suffered for want of food.” “But how about the officers?” I
asked. She looked at me sharply out of the corner of her eyes, for she
evidently did not care to criticize her own people, but she seemed to
recall something and her face suddenly hardened as she snapped out:
“The officers starve? Well, hardly. They lived like dukes always.” More
she would not say, but the evidence of these two was amply confirmed
by the sight of the sleek well-groomed specimens of the “dukes” that
promenade the streets. While the soldiers were in a desperate plight
for meat, the officers seemed to have retained their own thoroughbred
riding horses until the last day. I suppose that riding was a necessity
to them to keep in good health. The day before the surrender they gave
these up, and 2,000 beautiful horses were killed, not for meat for the
starving soldiers be it noted, but that they might not fall into the
hands of the Russians. Perhaps I can best illustrate what happened
by quoting the words of a Russian officer who was among the first
to enter the town. “Everywhere,” he told me, “one saw the bodies of
freshly-killed saddle horses, some of them animals that must have been
worth many thousand roubles. Around the bodies were groups of Hungarian
soldiers tearing at them with knives; with hands and faces dripping
with blood, they were gorging themselves on the raw meat. I have never
seen in all my experience of war a more horrible and pitiable spectacle
than these soldiers, half crazed with hunger, tearing the carcasses
like famished wolves.” My friend paused and a shadow crossed his
kindly face. “Yes,” he said, “it was horrible. Even my Cossack orderly
wept--and he--well, he has seen much of war and is not over delicate.”

I can quote the statement of the Countess Elizabeth Schouvalov, of whom
more anon, as further corroborative evidence of conditions existing
in the town. The Countess, who is in charge of a distribution station
to relieve the wants of the civil population, said to me: “It is true
that the people were starving. Common soldiers occasionally fell down
in the street from sheer weakness for want of food. Some lay like the
dead and would not move. But their officers!” A frown passed over her
handsome features. “Ah!” she said, “they are not like the Russians. Our
officers share the hardships of the men. You have seen it yourself,”
with a glance at me, “you know that one finds them in the trenches,
everywhere in uniforms as dirty as their soldiers, and living on almost
the same rations. A Russian would never live in ease while his men
starved. I am proud of my people. But these officers here--they care
nothing for their men. You have seen them in the streets. Do they look
as though they had suffered?” and she laughed bitterly.

I had not been above a few hours in Przemysl before it was quite
clear to me, at least, that Przemysl surrendered for lack of food,
and that while the officers were living luxuriously, their men were
literally starving. That they let them starve while they kept their
own pet saddle horses seems pretty well established from the evidence
obtainable. One wonders what public opinion would say of officers in
England, France or America who in a crisis proved capable of such
conduct?

In my comments on the Austrian officers I must of course limit my
observations to the types one sees, and hears about, in Przemysl.
Out of 3,600 officers there must have been men of whom Austria can be
proud, men who did share their men’s privations, and these, of course,
are excepted from the general observations.

[Illustration: Russian Governor of Przemysl.]


VI

Immediately on reaching the town we sought out the head-quarters of
the new Russian Commandant of the fortress. Over the door of the
building, in large gold letters, were words indicating that the
place had formerly been the head-quarters of the 10th Austrian Army
Corps. At the entrance two stolid Russian sentries eyed gloomily the
constant line of dapper Austrian officers that passed in and out, and
who were, as we subsequently learned, assisting the Russians in their
task of taking over the city. General Artimonov, the new governor,
received us at once in the room that had been vacated only a few days
before by his Austrian predecessor General Kusmanek. On the wall
hung a great picture of the Austrian Emperor. The General placed an
officer, Captain Stubatitch, at our disposal, and with him our way was
made comparatively easy. From him and other officers whom we met, we
gathered that the Russians were utterly taken by surprise at the sudden
fall of the fortress, and dumbfounded at the strength of the garrison,
which none believed would exceed the numbers of the Russians investing
them; the general idea being that there were not over 50,000 soldiers
at the disposal of the Austrian commander.

Three days before the fall a sortie was made by some 30,000 Hungarian
troops. Why out of 130,000 men only 30,000 were allotted to this task
in such a crisis does not appear. Neither has any one been able to
explain why, when they did start on their ill-fated excursion, they
made the attempt in the direction of Lwow rather than to the south,
in which direction, not so very far away, the armies of Austria were
struggling to reach them. Another remarkable feature of the last
sorties was, that the troops went to the attack in their heavy marching
kit. Probably not even the Austrians themselves felt any surprise that
such a half-hearted and badly organized undertaking failed with a loss
of 3,500 in casualties and as many more taken prisoners. One does not
know how these matters are regarded in Austria, but to the laymen it
would seem that some one should have a lot of explaining to do as to
the last days of this siege. Officers who have been over the ground
state that in view of the vast numbers of the garrison, and the fact
that they were well supplied with ammunition, there would have been
great chance of an important portion of the beleaguered breaking
through and getting clean away to the south; but no attempt of this
nature seems to have been made.

[Illustration: Russian occupation of Przemysl. Head-quarters of Staff.]

The night before the surrender, the Austrians began destroying their
military assets, and for two hours the town was shaken with the heavy
explosions of bridges and war material of all sorts. Every window
facing the San river was broken by the overcharge of the explosives
that destroyed the bridges. Simultaneously the work of destroying the
artillery was going on in all the forts with such efficiency, that it
is doubtful if the Russians will get a single piece that can be used
again. The soldiers even destroyed the butts of their muskets, and the
authorities, who were evidently keen on this part of the work, arranged
for tons of munitions to be dumped into the river. Others were assigned
to kill the saddle-horses.

By daylight the task seems to have been completed and negotiations for
surrender were opened by the Austrians. Our guide, Captain Stubatitch,
was the first Russian to enter the town as a negotiator, and through
him the meeting of ranking officers was arranged--a meeting that
resulted in the unconditional surrender of the fortress. The original
terms agreed on between Kusmanek and General Silivanov, the commander
of the Russian forces, did not permit the Austrian officers to carry
their side arms; but a telegram from the Grand Duke spared them the
humiliation of giving up their swords, a delicate courtesy, which it
seems to the writer was quite wasted on the supercilious Austrian
officers. In the first place there has been no formal entrance of
Russian troops, Silivanov himself not yet having inspected his
prize. The first Russians to enter came in six military touring cars
absolutely without any escort, and went quietly and unostentatiously to
the head-quarters of the Austrian commander where the affairs of the
town were transferred with as little friction as the changing of the
administration of one defeated political party into the hands of its
successor. Following the officials, small driblets of troops came in
to take over sentry and other military duties, and then came the long
lines of Russian transport bringing in supplies for the half-famished
garrison. All told, probably there have not been above a few thousand
Russian soldiers in Przemysl since its capitulation, and these were
greeted warmly by both prisoners and civilians. There has been no
friction whatever and everybody seems well satisfied with the end of
the siege. The greatest task at first was the relief of the population,
both soldiers and civilians. Countess Schouvalov, whom I have
mentioned before, came the second day and immediately began feeding the
population from the depôt where she organized a kitchen and service of
distribution which alone takes care of 3,000 people a day. The Army
authorities arranged for the care of the soldiers and much of the civil
population as well, and in three days the situation was well in hand
and practically all the suffering eliminated.

[Illustration: Feeding Austrian prisoners en route to Lwow.]

I have talked with many people in Przemysl, and civilians and prisoners
alike speak of the great kindness of the Russians from the ranking
officers down to the privates, all of whom have shown every desire
to ameliorate the distress. The difficulty of feeding so vast a
throng necessitated the immediate evacuation of the prisoners, and an
evacuation office was at once organized. Batches of prisoners started
toward Lwow at the rate of about ten thousand a day, which is about all
the stations along the route can handle conveniently with supplies.
The officers are sent out in small blocks by rail once a day, and are,
I believe for the most part taken directly to Kiev, where they will
remain until the end of the war.

General Kusmanek himself departed the first day in a motor car to the
head-quarters of Silivanov and thence with the bulk of his staff to
Kiev. Those who have seen him describe him as a youngish man looking
not over forty, but in reality fifty-four. A man who saw him the day of
the surrender told me that he had accepted the situation very casually,
and had seemed neither depressed nor mortified at the turn events had
taken. The ranking officer left in Przemysl is General Hubert, formerly
Chief of Staff, who is staying on to facilitate the transfer of
administrations; the head-quarters is filled with a mixture of officers
and orderlies of both armies working together in apparent harmony.

The fall of Przemysl strikes one as being the rarest thing possible in
war--namely a defeat, which seems to please all parties interested.
The Russians rejoice in a fortress captured, the Austrians at a chance
to eat and rest, and the civilians, long since sick of the quarrel, at
their city once more being restored to the normal.

[Illustration: General Hubert, Chief of Austrian Staff in Przemysl.]




WARSAW IN APRIL, 1915




CHAPTER II

WARSAW IN APRIL, 1915


  Dated:

  WARSAW, POLAND,

  _May 1, 1915_.

With the sunshine and balmy weather of the beautiful Polish spring,
there has come to Warsaw an optimism and hopefulness that is deeper
rooted and certainly more widely spread than the feeling of relief that
swept through the city in October last when the Germans, after their
futile effort to take it, began their retreat to their own frontier. On
that occasion the population had barely time to get its breath, and to
begin to express some optimism as to the war, when the news came that
the Germans were advancing for a second time on the Polish capital.

Warsaw, as I have seen it in nearly a dozen visits here since the
war began, is a little panicky in disposition, perhaps with reason;
and there have been such a continuous ebb and flow of rumours good
and bad, that for months no one knew what to expect. All through
December and January one heard every few days that the Germans would
take the town almost any time, only to be told the next day that all
chances of Teuton success were forever gone. Tales of German raids,
aeroplanes, Zeppelins on the way to destroy the city were circulated
so persistently, that perhaps it was not strange that genuine optimism
found the soil of local public opinion a difficult one in which to
take root. The end of the first week of February left the public here
greatly encouraged, for had not the stupendous German attack failed on
the Bzura-Rawka line?

But following close on its heels came the news of the movement in
East Prussia and Russian retirements, and once more confidence
fled. Later still the enemy’s advance on Przasnys and the threat to
the Petrograd-Warsaw line made conditions even worse. This was the
low-water mark. When the terrific attacks began to weaken and at last
the columns of the Kaiser began to give place, conviction that the
worst was over for Warsaw began to be felt generally, until to-day, May
1, I find a buoyancy and hopefulness here that I have not seen in any
part of Russia since the war started.

The reasoning of the people here is something like this. In the attacks
of January and February the Germans were putting into the field the
best men and the most of them that they could lay their hands on, and
still not weakening their position in the West. The onslaught on the
Bzura-Rawka line is believed to have been one of the fiercest efforts
that the Germans up to that date had made on any Front. Six corps and,
as it is said, 600 guns were concentrated on a short front and almost
without interruption they attacked for six days. The net result was
nothing save a few unimportant dents in the Russian line, and the
German loss is placed at 100,000 men. The Russians certainly did not
lose half that number, and some well-informed people who have been on
this Front for months think it may have been little more than a third.

The East Prussian attack and its corollary movement against Przasnys
raged with the same fury. For nearly a month Poland was taking an
account of stock. Now it has become the opinion of practically every
one, even down to the common soldiers, that the whole German movement
has proved an utter failure and at a cost to the enemy of not under
200,000, a figure from two to three times as great as was the decrease
of the Russian forces. Even the East Prussian retirement which was so
heralded abroad by the Germans has been gradually shrinking, until
now it is said that the total loss to the Russians was only 25,000
to 30,000 against the 100,000 which the Germans claimed. “How is it
possible,” people say here, “for the Germans to accomplish something in
May that they could not do in February?” Certainly they can never be
materially stronger than they were when the first attack on the Bzura
line was launched in the end of January, and the chances are that they
are greatly weaker.

The Russians, on the other hand, are stronger now by a very great deal
than they were on February 1st, and are getting stronger and stronger
with every day that the war lasts. It is probably safe to say that
there are 25 per cent. more troops on this Front to-day than there
were when the Russians threw back the Germans two months ago, and the
feeling that Warsaw will never be taken has become a conviction among
the Poles. The rumour-mongers, and there are hundreds here who wish
evil to the Russians, find it more and more difficult to start scares;
and even reports of Zeppelins and air raids create little comment. So
common have bombs become that the appearance of aircraft above the city
creates no curiosity and very little interest. I have been especially
impressed with the determination with which the Poles are planning to
combat the German influence in the future. Though Poland has suffered
hideously through this war, there is small cry here for peace at
any price, and the opinion voiced a few days ago by one of the leading
papers seems to be that of all the practical and most influential men
of the community. This view was that the war must be fought out to
a decisive issue, and though Poland must suffer longer thereby, yet
anything short of complete success would be intolerable. While the
Poles are still thinking a great deal about their political future,
they are perhaps more keenly alive as to their industrial and economic
future. As one well-informed individual expressed it, “With economic
and industrial prosperity we may later get all we want politically. But
without them mere political gains will profit us little.”

[Illustration: A Russian officer inspecting eight-inch gun.]

What the Poles want most perhaps in the final peace is a boundary
line that will give Russia the mouth of the Vistula at Danzig. With
an absolute freedom of trade with England, America and the outside
world, Poland will have a prosperity which will go a very long way
toward helping them to recuperate from the terrible blow that their
nation has received in the war. That this is serious no one can doubt.
Conditions within that portion of Poland occupied by the enemy are
said to be deplorable beyond measure. It is difficult to know here
exactly what the truth is, but it is probable that the suffering of
the unfortunate peasants, who are for the most part stripped of their
stock and in many instances without homes, is very severe. With the war
lasting all summer and no chance for a crop, their plight by autumn
will be serious. What is being done about putting in a crop for the
coming year is uncertain, but it is said that there is practically no
seed for sowing, and that the harvest this year (where there is no
fighting) will be very small. In the actual zone of operations there
will probably be none at all.

Reports are coming from a dozen different quarters of the condition of
the Germans. A story from a source which in many months I have found
always trustworthy indicates that the soldiers are surrendering to the
Russians in small batches whenever a favourable opportunity offers.

The reported complaint is that their rations are increasingly short
and that there is growing discouragement. There are dozens of similar
stories circulated every day. One does not perhaps accept them at par,
but the great significance is that they are circulating here now for
practically the first time. When I was last in Warsaw I questioned many
prisoners but never found one who would criticize his own fare. This
condition seems to have changed materially in the past ten weeks. No
one however must dream of underestimating the stamina of the enemy on
this Front; for however one’s sympathy may go, they are a brave and
stubborn foe, and months may elapse, even after they begin to weaken
in _moral_, before the task of beating them will be an easy one. Their
lines on this Front are reported to be extremely strong, and I am told
by an observer that they are employing a new type of barbed wire which
is extremely difficult to cut, and presents increased difficulty in
breaking through.

The condition of the Russians is infinitely better than at any time
since the war started. Their 1915 levies, which are just coming into
the field now in great blocks, are about the finest raw fighting
material that one can find in Europe. Great, strapping, healthy,
good-natured lads who look as though they never had a day’s sickness
in their life. I think I do not exaggerate when I say that I have seen
nearly 100,000 of these new levies and I have yet to see a battalion
that did not exhale high spirits and enthusiasm. They come swinging
through Warsaw, laughing and singing with a confidence and optimism
which it is hard to believe possible when one considers that we are
in the 9th month of the war. Surely if the Germans, who are straining
every effort now to raise new troops, could see these men that Russia
is pouring into the field they would have a genuine qualm as to the
future. And these are but a drop in the bucket to what is available in
great Russia that lies behind. Over here there will never be any lack
of men, and the Czar can keep putting troops just like this into the
field for as many more years as the war may last. After nearly a year
on this Front of the war, one just begins to appreciate the enormous
human resources which Russia has at her command in this great conflict.

During the winter there was a pretty widespread apprehension of
conditions which might result among the soldiers when the spring and
warm weather came. As far as one can learn, the authorities have
made a great effort to improve sanitary conditions at the Front, and
there is very little sickness in the army at present. Those who are
in a position to know, seem to feel confident that such steps as are
necessary to maintain the health of the men at a high standard during
the summer have been taken. It is certain that there has been a pretty
general clean up, and that there is less disease now, even with the
warmer weather, than there was in February.

In the meantime, the Spring has come and the roads are rapidly drying
up. The occasional rumours of the Germans reaching Warsaw are becoming
more and more rare, and the gossip of the town now is as to what
date will be selected for the Russian advance.

[Illustration: Russian bath train.]

The life of the city is absolutely normal, and I am told that the
shopkeepers are doing a bigger business than ever before. The
restaurants are preparing for their out-of-door cafés, and the streets
are bright with the uniforms of the Russian soldiery. A German officer
who came through here the other day (as a prisoner) could not believe
his eyes. “Why,” he is reported to have said to his Russian captor, “we
supposed Warsaw was abandoned by everyone who could get away. But the
town seems as usual.” And the officer was right. The casual observer
finds it hard to realize that there is a line of battle only 30 miles
away.




AN AMERICAN DOCTOR IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY




CHAPTER III

AN AMERICAN DOCTOR IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY


  Dated:

  WARSAW, POLAND,

  _May 3, 1915_.

It is a far cry from the city of Seattle in the State of Washington,
U.S.A., to the little village of Sejny in the Polish government of
Suwalki, but this is the jump that one must make to follow the career
of Dr. Eugene Hurd, the only American surgeon attached to the Russian
Red Cross working in the field in this war. Inasmuch as the story of
the Doctor is a good one in itself, and as from him one learns not a
little about the Field Hospital service of the Russians, it seems quite
worth while to devote a chapter to this very interesting and useful
individual.

Up to August last Dr. Hurd was a practising surgeon in Seattle, a
member of the State Legislature and spoken of as coming Mayor of the
town. When he strolled casually into my room at Warsaw in the uniform
of a Russian Colonel, who spoke not a word of any language except
English, I was naturally somewhat surprised. “How on earth,” I asked
him, “do you happen to be in the Russian Army?” Unbuckling his sword
and sprawling his six feet three of brawn and sinew in an armchair he
began his story.

“Well, it was this way. I’ve never had much time to follow politics in
Europe, as my time’s been pretty much occupied cutting off legs and
arms and such, out on the Pacific Coast. But my people have always
been regular Americans, and some of us have been in every war the
U.S.A. ever pulled off. My great-grandfather fought in the revolution;
my grandfather in the Mexican war, and my father in the Civil and
Spanish-American wars. Well, I was raised in an army post, and ever
since I was a kid I’ve heard my father talk about how Russia stuck
with us during the Civil war. When things looked blue and bad for the
North she sent her old fleet over, and let it set right there in New
York Harbour until required, if needed. During the war in Manchuria we
were all for Russia on just this account, and when she got licked Dad
and I both felt bad. All right. Well one day out in Seattle I read in
the paper that Germany had declared war on Russia. I remembered that
business, back in the ‘60’s,’ and what the Russians did for us, and I
just said to myself, ‘Well, I’m for Russia anyhow,’ and I sat down that
very day and wrote to the head of the medical department at Petrograd,
and just told them straight that we had always been for Russia ever
since that business of her fleet, and that if I could serve her in this
war I’d come over even if I had to throw up my own practice, which by
the way is a pretty good one.

“Well, a couple of months went by and I had forgotten all about it
when one day the Russian Consul blew into my office with a cable from
Petrograd, a bunch of money in one hand and a ticket over the Siberian
in the other. So I just locked up my office and came right over. In
Petrograd they ran me around in an auto. for two days, and then shipped
me down to Grodno, where I got a Colonel’s uniform and went right out
to the ‘Front’ in charge of a Field Hospital, where I’ve been now for
three solid months, and you’re the first American I’ve seen and you
certainly look good to me,” and the Doctor smiled genially.

I have got more information about the Russian wounded from Hurd than
any man I have met since I came to Russia, and though he does not speak
the language he sees everything. He was at once placed in charge of an
outfit of sixty-one men and five wagons which formed a Field Hospital.
“I have my bunch well organized,” the doctor said. “You see I handled
it this way. I divided all my outfit, medicine chest, instruments,
etc., so that they went into the five wagons. Each wagon was painted a
certain colour and every box that went into that wagon had a band of
the same colour around it and a number. I had a man for each box and
each knew exactly what to do. I can halt on the march and my men are so
well trained now that I can commence operating in ten minutes after we
make a stop. I can quit work and be packed up and on the march again in
twenty. I like these fellows over here fine, and when I once get them
properly broken in, they work splendidly.” [The Field Hospital to which
he was attached was up in the rear of the Russian lines all during the
recent fighting in East Prussia.] “I never worked so hard in my life,”
he continued. “One day I had 375 men come to my table between sunset
and morning and I was working steadily until the next night, making
twenty-three hours without intermission. It was a tough job because
every little while we had to pull up stakes and move off to the rear
with our wounded. That made it hard for us and difficult to do real
good work.”

[Illustration: The Emperor with his Staff.]

[Illustration: Russian nurses attend to the feeding of the soldiers.]

The work and experience with the Russian wounded have given this
American doctor a remarkable insight into the character of the
peasant soldier. “These moujik chaps,” he assured me, “never make a
complaint. I never saw anything like it. Sometimes they groan a little
when you’re digging for a bullet, but once off the table and in the
straw (we are without beds as we move too fast for that) a whole
barnful will be as quiet as though the place was empty; one German,
on the other hand, will holler his head off and keep the whole place
awake. The Russians never complain, and everything you do for them they
appreciate remarkably. I do a lot of doctoring for the villagers, and
every day there’s a line a block long waiting to get some ‘American’
dope, and they’re so grateful it makes you feel ashamed. Everybody
wants to kiss your hands. I tried putting my hands behind me, but those
that were behind were just as bad as those in front. Now I’ve given up
and just let them kiss.”

The vitality of the Russian soldier is amazing according to the
evidence of this observer. With the exception of wounds in the heart,
spine or big arteries there is nothing that must certainly prove fatal.
Many head wounds that seem incredibly dangerous recover. “I had one
case,” he told me, “which I never would have believed. The soldier
walked into my hospital with a bullet through his head. It had come
out just above his left ear and I had to dissect away part of the brain
that was lying on the ear, Well, that fellow talked all through the
dressing and walked out of the hospital. I sent him to the rear and I
have no doubt that he recovered absolutely.”

In the hundreds of cases operated on not a single death occurred on
the operating table and not one lung wound proved fatal. Many of the
abdominal wounds of the worst type make ultimate recoveries, and it
was the opinion of the surgeon that not above five to ten per cent. of
the patients who reached the first dressing stations died later from
the effects of their wounds. That the war was very popular among the
common soldiers was the conclusion that my friend had reached. “The
old men with families don’t care much for it,” he added, “but that is
because they are always worrying about their families at home, but the
young fellows are keen for it, anxious to get to the ‘Front’ when they
first come out, and eager to get back to it even after they have been
wounded. Some of them as a matter of fact go back several times after
being in the hospital.”

In discussing the comparative merits of the Germans and Russians, it
was his opinion that though the Germans were better rifle shots, they
could not compare with the Russians when it came to the bayonet. “When
these moujiks,” said the doctor, “climb out of their trenches and begin
to sing their national songs, they just go crazy and they aren’t scared
of anything; and believe me, when the Germans see them coming across
the fields bellowing these songs of theirs, they just don’t wait one
minute, but dig right out across the landscape as fast as they can
tear. I don’t think there’s a soldier in the world that has anything
on the Russian private for bravery. They are a stubborn lot too, and
will sit in trenches in all weathers and be just as cheerful under one
condition as another. One big advantage over here, as I regard it, is
the good relations between the soldiers and the officers.”

One extremely significant statement as to the German losses in the East
Prussian movement was made by this American surgeon. The church and
convent where his hospital is located were previously used for the same
purposes by the Germans. According to the statement of the priest who
was there during their occupation, 10,500 German wounded were handled
in that one village in a period of six weeks and one day. From this
number of wounded in one village may be estimated what the loss to the
enemy must have been during the entire campaign on the East Prussian
Front.




GENERAL RUSSKY’S SUCCESSOR




CHAPTER IV

GENERAL RUSSKY’S SUCCESSOR


  Dated:

  WARSAW, RUSSIA,

  _May 10, 1915_.

The two most simple personalities that I have met in this war are the
Grand Duke Nicholas, and the Commander who has come to the Northern
Armies to take up the post made vacant by the retirement of General
Russky. Certain business relating to desired freedom of movement in
the zone of operations took the writer to the head-quarters of General
Alexieff, which is situated in a place not very far away. Without
giving away any figures it is perhaps safe to say that the command of
General Alexieff is twice the size of that now under Field-Marshal Sir
John French on the continent. The territory occupied by the armies
commanded by him covers an enormous area, and probably up to this war
there has been no single individual in the history of the world with
such a vast military organization as that over which General Alexieff
presides as supreme dictator, subject only to the Grand Duke himself.
The whole aspect of the headquarters of which he is the presiding
genius is, in atmosphere, the last word in the modern idea of a
commanding general’s place of abode. The town in which he is living is
perhaps a model one from the point of view of the gentlemen who write
the textbooks and sketch the details of the programme and course which
should be adopted by military chiefs. The theory in the Japanese Army
was that the brains of the army should be so far away from the actual
scene of operations, that the officer would be absolutely detached from
the atmosphere of war; and that between himself and the Front there
should be installed so many nervous shock absorbers that the office
of the great chief himself should be the realm of pure reason with no
noise nor excitement nor hurrying aides to impair his judgment.

I recall a conversation I once had with Major (now Lt.-General) Tanaka,
Oyama’s personal A.D.C. “I should have liked to have been with the
General Staff,” I remarked to him, “during the Battle of Moukden.
It must have been an exciting time with you.” My friend laughed and
answered, “You would have had a great surprise, I imagine. There was no
excitement at all. How do you suppose Oyama and his staff spent much
of their time during the battle?” One naturally imagined that it was
spent scrutinizing maps and making plans, and I said this to Tanaka.
“Not at all,” he replied, “when the battle began, our work was largely
finished. It was but necessary to make an occasional change in the line
here and there, and this too, for only a few minutes of the time of the
Field-Marshal. Most of the time he and Kodame (Chief of General Staff)
were playing croquet.”

Much the same atmosphere of detachment from the activities of the
campaign may be seen to-day in the little Polish city where Alexieff
has his head-quarters, except that no one here has time for croquet.
It is a safe venture that outside of his own staff there are not fifty
soldiers in the whole town. It is in fact less military in appearance
than any city I have ever seen since I have have been in Russia. In
front of his office are a couple of soldiers, and a small Russian
flag hangs over the door. Nothing outside would lead one to believe
that within is the man in the palm of whose hand lies the fate and
movements of hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of men, and at whose
word a thousand guns will spread death and destruction. In trenches
miles away, stretching through forest and along hilltops, numberless
regiments and brigades await the curt order from this building to
launch themselves against the German lines.

The man himself is as quiet and unobtrusive as are his surroundings.
Perhaps fifty-eight or fifty-nine in years with a very intellectual
face and an almost shy manner, is Alexieff, the man whom current
gossip credits with the keenest brain in the Russian field armies. As
Ivanov’s Chief of Staff, he is said to have been a great factor in the
planning and the execution of much of the Galician campaign, and those
who know him well, believe that under his direction great things will
be accomplished in Poland. The General is very quiet and retiring, and
from a very brief observation one would say that he was primarily a
man of strategy, more at home solving the intellectual problems of a
campaign than in working out tactical puzzles in the field.

The staff of the quiet unostentatious Russian who is commanding this
enormous front consists of about seventy-five members (about the same
number as Kusmanek of Przemysl fame had on his personal staff for the
defence of the city), and taken as a whole, they are most serious and
hard-working men, if their looks do not belie them. “You would be
surprised,” an A.D.C. informed me, “to know the enormous amount of work
that we all get through here. There is a lull on this front now, and
it is comparatively an easy time, but in spite of that fact we are all
of us busy from morning until night. When there is a movement under way
we do not get any rest even at nights.” One comes from Warsaw where
rumours are flying thick and fast as to German advances and Russian
mishaps, to find everything serene and calm and the general opinion of
the staff one of great optimism. For the moment the Russians are in the
trough of the sea, as it were, and all of the late news from Galicia is
not particularly favourable; but if the attitude of the staff is any
criterion, the situation is not felt to be of a critical nature, and
for the first time in months one hears officers expressing the opinion
that the war will end this year.

There is a tendency to welcome the German impetuosity of attack, for
each fresh irruption means a weakening of the enemy. The Russian
theory is that Russia can stand the losses, large as they are, almost
indefinitely, and that she is willing to take the burden of breaking
the German wave again and again if need be, knowing that each assault
of the enemy is bringing them nearer and nearer to the end of their
tether. Since the latest irruption into Galicia we hear less talk of
a Russian advance in the near future, but certainly not a sign of
discouragement in any of the high quarters. One may well believe that
this last outburst was not anticipated, but the Russians over on this
side are as ready to “play” the fish now as they were when the war
first started. It was hoped after the January-February attacks, that
the enemy was exhausted and the time was in sight when the gaff might
be of use. Now the fish has taken another spurt, and the Russians are
letting out the line again and are prepared to let it have another
fling in their waters. But they believe none the less that the enemy is
firmly hooked, and that it is merely a question of time when from sheer
exhaustion he will tire and they may begin to drive home their own
attacks.

The Russian attitude is very philosophical, and though a people who
are temperamentally not without a vein of melancholy, they take this
war with much more equanimity than one could have imagined possible.
Retreats and shifting of lines no longer create panics over here.
People are sorry. They had hoped that the Germans were nearer the
point of exhaustion, but there is not the slightest indication of
discouragement. Probably their attitude is due primarily to the fact
that they had never anticipated an easy victory nor a short war. They
knew from the start that they were in for a terrific ordeal, and what
goes on day after day, with its ebbs and its floods, is merely a
matter of the day’s work with them. They have seen again and again the
irruptions of the Germans gradually absorbed by their troops, and each
set back now is accepted as only temporary. The movement of the Germans
in Courland has hardly made any impression at all in Russia generally,
if the reports one hears are true.

[Illustration: Russian soldiers performing their native dance.]

The Russians had practically no troops in that province, which itself
offered no great strategic advantage to the Germans. Taking advantage
of this weak spot, the Germans with a number of corps--it is placed as
high as three--poured into the almost unprotected country.

The Russians say that the German motive is first that they would
be able to announce to their people that they had occupied enemy
territory, and second that the rich province would give them certain
much needed supplies. For a day or two the progress seems to have been
almost without interruption, but now we hear that it has been checked
and that the enemy are gradually giving way before the Russians, who
have shifted troops to that front to prevent further advances. The
occupation of Libau does not seem to worry any one very much. “What
good will it do them?” one Russian officer said to me? “No doubt they
will fortify it and make it as strong as possible. Probably we will
never try to get it back while the war lasts. Why should we? It is of
no great value strategically, and it is not worth the price of lives
and troops detached from other points to retake it. When we have won,
it will naturally come back to us without our having to spend a single
extra life in getting it.”

The situation in Galicia is still something of a puzzle, but those in
authority do not seem to be taking it over seriously. There is reason
to believe that it is a repetition of what has occurred again and again
on this and other fronts. The Germans, by means of their superior
rail facilities made a sudden concentration and hit the Russian line
with such energy as to force its retirement. Each mile of the Russian
retreat has strengthened their army by the additions of reserves,
while it has probably seen an increasing weakening of the enemies’.
The sudden advance of the enemy has forced the withdrawal of the
Russians pushing through the Dukla, who were obviously menaced in their
communications. I am told now that the German attacks have already
passed their zenith, and that the Russians reinforced by new troops
are confident of checking any further advance. Over here it is but a
question of breaking the first fury of the attack. When that is done we
can count on the Russian muoujik slowly but surely to force his way
back over the lost ground. The end of the incident sees the Russians
stronger and the Germans weaker. It is futile for any one to attempt to
estimate how many more of these irruptions the Germans are capable of,
but we are certain that be it this summer or next there is a limit to
them. When that limit has been reached the Russian advance will begin.




CHECKING UP THE SITUATION IN POLAND




CHAPTER V

CHECKING UP THE SITUATION IN POLAND


  Dated:

  WARSAW,

  _May 24, 1915_.

A few weeks ago the writer expressed the opinion that a permanent
optimism had come to Warsaw. For several weeks this impression seemed
to have every justification in fact, but since the commencement of
the Galician movement in the south the confidence felt by the saner
members of the community has been utterly submerged by the pessimism
which in waves has swept over the town. One finds it impossible to
know definitely from what exact quarters all the false stories start,
and if one tries to run them down the _trail_ speedily vanishes. The
explanation is that the Jews in Poland are so unfriendly to Russian
interests and Russian successes, that the slightest set-back, or rumour
of bad news, is seized on by them, and in a few hours is spread all
over the town, exaggerated grossly with every telling. It is really
extraordinary, after ten months of war, how persistent these hostile
factions are in their hope of German success. There are, besides the
Jews, probably many Austrian agents, who use the slightest pretext to
start stories in the hope of creating a panic.

Within the last two weeks every imaginable tale has been current. Last
week there was so much vagueness in regard to the news coming up from
the south of Poland, that it seemed wise to make a quick tour in the
rear of the Russian positions in order to get some opinion of the real
situation. The collection of war news falls very definitely into two
classes, descriptive writing and material which is merely indicative
of the situation as a whole. The former is of course more interesting
to the average reader, but the latter is far more important from every
other angle. After ten months of war, the vital question now is whether
the Germans are advancing or retiring, and not so much how the battles
themselves are conducted, or what sort of a picture is presented in
the different actions. So my trip of yesterday, though not in the
least picturesque in its happenings, was extremely interesting in that
it offered an emphatic contradiction to practically every adverse
rumour that had gained currency in Warsaw for the week previously.

[Illustration: The Polish Legion. Note the small boy in the ranks as
mascot.]

We left Warsaw at six in the morning in our racing car, and as soon as
we were clear of the town and headed in the direction of Radom, on the
fine macadam highway, we were able to develop a speed that no express
train in Russia has made since the declaration of war. This highway
has been the artery of travel and communication over which ammunition,
transport and guns have moved almost without interruption for ten
months. That the Russians have kept it in good condition, is apparent
from the fact that we were able to make above 65 versts an hour on many
stretches of the way. I passed over the same road many times during the
first months of the war, and its condition now is infinitely better
than it was in those days.

On every hand are evidences of increased Russian efficiency. The war
now has become strictly a matter of organization, and everything goes
on now without excitement and without confusion of any sort. Road
gangs have been organized, and these highways are maintained with as
much care as the permanent way of a railway line. One sign of the
times is the new departure of the Russian authorities, in building at
intervals of about every 5 versts a boiled water station, which is
distinguished by a special flag. Here in a shed closed on three sides
is a great boiler with numerous taps on it. When troops are passing in
any quantities the water is kept hot that the soldiers may always get
boiling water for their tea. When there is small movement on the road,
they can always get it cold for drinking purposes.

As it was Sunday we found the road practically free of transport.
Barring occasional soldiers sauntering along the highway there was no
sign of war until we were within a few miles of Radom, when, perhaps
20 versts to the west, columns of smoke, drifting lazily off in the
still air, indicated where some German battery had been shelling some
unfortunate village. Away off on the horizon a few faint puffs of white
in the blue showed where our batteries were breaking shrapnel under a
speck of an aeroplane, which had evidently been on a morning tour of
inspection. I was rather curious to see Radom, because for a week we
had been told in Warsaw that a terrible panic prevailed here, and that
the population were leaving in a frenzy of terror to avoid the sweep
of the Germans on Warsaw, that same old story which has for so many
months been circulated by the Jewish population. But Radom itself was
as quiet and casual as a city of the same size in far off America
might have been on a Sunday morning. The streets were crowded with the
population in their best clothes going to church, and the panic so
widely discussed in Warsaw was conspicuous by its absence.

I talked with a number of the townspeople, and they were as surprised
as they could be to know that they were all (according to Warsaw) in
full flight for the other side of the Vistula. What astonishes one most
is the absolute lack of information in one place of what is going on in
the next town. Kielce is but 30 miles from Radom, yet I could find no
one, neither officer nor civilian, who could say positively whether on
this particular day it was in our hands or in the hands of the enemy.
We did learn however from an officer that the road had been badly cut
up, and that fighting had taken place near Kielce, with destruction of
bridges, which would make it impossible for us to get there in a car.
As a fact, I learned later in the day that the road for perhaps 15
versts north of Kielce was held by German cavalry, and so was just as
well satisfied that we had not gone that way.

Radom I found was outside the army group which I had a special permit
to visit, and it was therefore necessary to call on the General
commanding the army before I could with propriety pay a visit to any
of the corps commanders in this theatre of war. It was necessary,
therefore, to motor to a certain point east of the Vistula to pay our
respects to this gentleman. Well on in the afternoon we motored into
the beautiful grounds of a Polish villa and spent several hours with
one of the men who, with a number of corps, was able to contribute an
important part to the defeat of the Austrians on the Grodek line in the
fall of last year. Here we were cordially received both by the General
and by his staff, two of whom at once ordered refreshments for us and
remained with us until we started back for Warsaw late in the day.

From this point we were in touch with the sources of information
flowing in from both Southern Poland and the great battlefield in
Galicia. All the Russian corps in Poland, with the exception of one
that lay next the Vistula, had been inactive during the past weeks, and
after shifting their position to the new line, made necessary by the
retirement of the Galician army, had been ordered to remain strictly
on the defensive. The corps lying next the Vistula, however, was only
across the river from the great action going on south of them, and
after days of listening to the roar of their brothers’ cannon to the
south, they were in anything but a placid or quiet mood. The whole
line, in fact, was figuratively being held on the leash, but this
last corps had been so infected by the contagion of the action to
the south that it proved very difficult to keep the units in their
trenches. At the first feeler of the German advance, which came up on
their side of the Vistula, they at once jumped at the conclusion that
the best defensive was a strong attack, and with this idea in mind they
considered, no doubt, that they were strictly in accord with their
defensive orders when they attacked the Germans.

[Illustration: The Vistula (winter).

Soldiers are seen in the picture destroying the broken ice. This is a
great danger to the bridges when carried away by the current.]

The ball was started, as far as I can learn, by a cavalry colonel who,
with a small command, attacked a pontoon bridge train that, in some
incredible way, was poking along in advance with only a meagre escort.
The advance of this small unit of horsemen served as a spark in the
Russian powder magazine, and within a few hours the whole corps was
engaged in an attack on the German infantry. It is hard to get any
accurate details of the operations, but this fighting lasted probably
two to three days. The ardent Russian regiments fell on the centre of
a German formation, which was said to be the 46th Landsturm corps,
smashed its centre and dissipated its flanking supports of a division
each. The Russians claim that 12,000 were left on the field and that
they took 6,000 prisoners. In any case there is no question that this
action put out at least one corps from further activity as an efficient
unit.

The German prisoners captured expressed themselves as greatly surprised
at the Russians attacking them. They had been told that the Russians
had all crossed the Vistula and were in rapid retreat to the west,
and that the probabilities were that the road to Moscow would be open
in a few weeks. From various members of the Russian Staff I obtained
many details as to the fighting in Galicia, which all agreed had been
terrific but was going extremely well for them on the line of the San
river. It is too soon to attempt a detailed account of this action,
but it will form one of the greatest stories of the whole war when the
returns are all in. Suffice it to say that the Russians had been aware
of the impending attack for several weeks, and had been preparing, in
case of necessity, a retirement on to a position upon the San river
with Przemysl as the salient thereof.

This Russian retreat did not come as a surprise even to the writer.
As far back as a month ago he was aware of feverish activities in
rehabilitating the Przemysl defences, and though at that time the
object was vague, it became clear enough when this crisis broke that
the Russians had foreseen the possibility of the failure to hold the
Dunajec line. The Germans carried this by a concentration of artillery
fire, probably greater even than that of the English guns at Neuve
Chapelle. So fierce was this torrent of flying steel that the Russian
line was eaten away in the centre, and in the Carpathian flank, and
there seems reason to believe that the army on the Dunajec was cut in
three sections when it began to retire. That it pulled itself together
and has been able to hold itself intact on the San up to the time of
this writing is evidence of the resiliency of the Russian organization.

The Russians having had the alternative in view, withdrew with great
speed, destroying bridges and approaches in order to delay the Germans.
In the meantime both their reserves of men and munitions were being
pushed up to await them on the San line. When the Germans came up in
strength with their tongues hanging out, and their formations suffering
from lack of rest and lack of ammunition, they found the Russian line
waiting for them. It is futile to estimate the German losses at this
time, but they will be in the hundreds of thousands, and a final
count will show them to be at least two to three times greater than
the Russian sacrifices. A German prisoner is said to have made the
complaint that the Russians fought like barbarians. “Had they been
civilized people,” he is reported to have said, “they would have
stayed on the Dunajec and fought like men. In that case we would have
utterly destroyed their army.” Instead of that they went away and
fought on the San. What seems to have happened is that the Germans were
not actually short of ammunition, but in extending their line to the
San they could not bring it up with the same rapidity as in the Dunajec
and Carpathian attacks; the result was that they were unable to feed
their guns according to their new artillery programme begun on the
Dunajec line, a programme no doubt borrowed from the west.




A VISIT TO THE POSITIONS




CHAPTER VI

A VISIT TO THE POSITIONS


  From:

  SOMEWHERE ON THE RAWKA LINE,

  _May 25, 1915_.

During the comparative lull on the Bzura-Rawka-Pilitza line I have been
trying to go about to certain important salients on our front and have
a look both at the terrain, and the positions which we are defending.

Leaving Warsaw by motor we ran out to the head-quarters of a certain
army where we found the General living in the palace of a Polish
noble. Beautiful avenues of trees gave access to a wonderful garden
with a little lake before an old mansion dating back to the eighteenth
century. Here in the quiet seclusion of a little forest lives the
general, who presides over the destinies of perhaps 150,000 men. We are
received cordially by the Chief of Staff who, with exemplary patience,
reads over the twelve permits of various sorts which complete the
constantly growing collection of authorizations for me to come and
go on this front. After careful scrutiny of all he sighs heavily,
for perhaps he is not an admirer of the press, but none the less he
inquires cordially what we would like to do. “Heavy batteries and
observation points” is always my reply for reasons already explained. A
smart young aide is sent for who, it appears, speaks English fluently,
having lived for some time in America. The staff offer us an additional
automobile, and while this is being brought round we sit out under the
trees in the garden. Just behind the house, in a bower, is another
officer of the staff sitting in an easy-chair behind a table before
which stand a group of Austrian prisoners whom he is examining for
information. After a few minutes our young aide comes back, and with
two automobiles we start for the positions.

We must first go to the head-quarters of an army corps. This is distant
25 versts, and as the roads are for the most part short cuts across the
fields, it takes us more than an hour to reach a very unpretentious
village where we meet the General commanding the -- Corps. This man is
distinctly of the type that war produces. He was only a minor general
when the war started, but efficiency in action has given him two
promotions. Shabby and war-worn he is living in a mere hovel, still
wearing the uniform and shoulder straps of two grades back when he was
a somewhat humble officer in the artillery. By him we are supplied with
a soldier guide and go off to the head-quarters of an artillery brigade
where we find the commander of the guns who provides us with a member
of his staff. This officer joins our party, and directs us to the
head-quarters of an artillery unit composed of a number of batteries. I
say unit because it is all controlled from one point of observation.

By the time we pull up between a couple of ruined peasants’ homes, only
the walls of which are standing; it is after seven in the evening.
From a kind of cave among the debris there emerged three or four
tired-looking artillerymen who are in charge of the guns in these
positions. The country here is flat and rolling, with a little ridge
to the west of us, which cuts off the view into the valley beyond, in
which are the lines of the Russian and German trenches. Leaving our
automobiles in the road, we stroll through a wheat-field toward the
ridge, distant perhaps 1,000 yards. In the corner of the field is a
hedge, and behind the hedge is a battery of field guns. One notices
with each passing month the increasing cleverness of the Russians in
masking their batteries. Though this is no wood, we walk almost on to
the position before we discover the guns at all. They are well dug in,
with small fir trees borrowed from neighbouring bits of woodland stuck
in the ground all about them. Each gun is separated from its brother by
a screen of green, and boughs above mask the view from an aeroplane.
From the front one would never see them at all unless one were looking
closely. To-night the last red rays from the setting sun just catch
a twinkle of the steel in their shining throats, as their long sleek
snouts protrude from the foliage. The shields are painted a kind of
green which helps still more to make them invisible.

This particular battery, so its Colonel tells us, has had a great laugh
on the enemy during the past few days. What happened was this. A German
Taube flew over the line several times, and it kept coming back so
frequently and hovering over the battery, that the officers who were
watching it became suspicious that they had been spotted. When darkness
fell the entire personnel of the battery became extremely busy, and by
working like bees they moved their guns perhaps 600 yards to the south
and by daylight had them in the new positions and fairly well masked.
Shortly after sunrise back came the aeroplane, and when over the old
position it gave a signal to its own lines and then flew back. Almost
instantly hell broke loose on the abandoned spot. In walking over the
ground one is amazed at the accuracy of long range artillery fire, for
in the ten-acre lot in which the old position was the centre there was
hardly ten square yards without its shell hole, while the ground was a
junk heap of steel and shrapnel fragments. Six hundred yards away the
men of the battery watched it all and laughed their sides out at the
way they had fooled the Germans. This particular battery had bothered
the enemy a great deal and they were on the look out for it. Probably
there will be further competitions of wits before the week is out. From
glancing at the field torn up with shell fire one begins to realize
what observation means to the enemy. With modern methods a single
signal from an aeroplane may mean the wiping out in a few minutes of an
unsuspecting battery that has been safely hidden for months.

Leaving the guns, we saunter across the wheat-field toward the ridge,
the great red ball of the setting sun dazzling our eyes with its aspect
of molten steel. On the very crest of the rolling ground is a grove of
stunted firs, and through this lies a path to the observation trench
which is entered by an approach growing gradually deeper until, cutting
through the very ridge, it ends in the observation trench dug out of
the earth on the western slope. For the last couple of hundred yards
before we enter the approaches, we are in plain view of the German
gunners, but we had supposed that at the distance a few men would not
be noticed. Evidently, however, our observers in the German line have
had their eyes glued on this spot, for we had barely entered the trench
when a shell burst down in front of us. The writer was looking through
the hyperscope at the time, but imagined that it was at least half a
mile away. An instant later came the melancholy wail of another shell
over our heads and the report of its explosion half way between us and
our motor-car in the road. Behind it came another and another each one
getting nearer our trench. The last one passed a few feet over our
heads and burst just beyond, covering us in the trench with dust and
filling our nostrils with the fumes of gunpowder. Another shortening up
of the range might have landed in our delightful retreat, but evidently
the Germans became discouraged, for we heard nothing more from them.

Through the hyperscopes one could look out over the beautiful sweep of
the valley studded with little farms, the homes of which are mostly in
ruins. This point from which we were studying the landscape was only
100 yards from our own line of trenches, which lay just in front of
and below us, while not more than 75 yards beyond were the line of the
German trenches. So clear were they in the field of the hyperscope
that one could actually see the loopholes in the ridge of earth. Our
own were, of course, open from the back, and one could see the soldiers
moving about in their quarters or squatting comfortably against the
walls of the trenches. Away to the west were ridges of earth here
and there, where our friends of the artillery told us were reserve
trenches, while they pointed out groves of trees or ruined villages in
which they suspected lurked the German guns.

[Illustration: Russian officers in an artillery observation position.]

After the report of the shells had died away and the dust settled there
was the silence of absolute peace and serenity over the whole valley.
Not a rifle shot or a human noise broke the beautiful calm of the May
sunset. Off to the west glimmered the silver stream of the Rawka. To
look out over this lovely valley in the falling twilight it seemed
incredible that thousands of men lay concealed under our very eyes, men
who were waiting only a favourable opportunity to leap out of their
trenches and meet each other in hand-to-hand combat. On the advice
of our guides, we waited in our secure little trench until the last
red rays of the sun were cut off by the horizon in the west, when we
returned by the way we had come to the waiting automobiles.

The whole valley in this section is very flat, and the ridges such
as the one I have described are very scarce. The Russian lines are
extremely strong, and one gets the idea that they would require a good
deal of taking before the Germans could occupy them. Our artillery
seemed to be in excellent quantities, and the ammunition situation
satisfactory if the officer may be believed. The rears of all these
positions have been prepared for defence, and there are at least three
lines or groups of trenches lying between this front and Warsaw, each
of which would present as strong a defence as the line which now for
many months has defied all efforts of the enemy to get through.

I was especially interested in looking over this locality, because
in Warsaw it has been mentioned as a point where the Russians were
in great danger, and where they were barely able to hold their own.
The truth is that there has been little fighting here for months
excepting an occasional burst of artillery, or now and then a spasm
of inter-trench fighting between unimportant units. I told our guide
of the dismal stories we heard, and he only laughed as he pointed out
to me a level stretch of country on our side of the ridge. A number
of young Russian officers were riding about on prancing horses. “See
there,” my friend told me, “we have laid out a race course, and the
day after to-morrow the officers of this brigade are going to have a
steeplechase. You see they have built a little platform for the general
to stand on and judge the events. We are only 1,000 yards here from the
trenches of the enemy. So you see we do not feel as anxious about the
safety of our position as they do in Warsaw.” He lighted a cigarette
and then added seriously: “No, the Germans cannot force us here, nor
do I think on any of the other Warsaw fronts. Our positions have never
been as strong as they are to-day.”

A few minutes later we were in our motors speeding through the twilight
to the village in our rear where the Chief of Staff of the -- Corps had
arranged quarters for us.




A SUMMER DAY ON THE RAWKA LINE




CHAPTER VII

A SUMMER DAY ON THE RAWKA LINE


  From:

  A CERTAIN ARMY CORPS HEAD-QUARTERS NOT FAR FROM THE RAWKA.

  _May 26, 1915._

The month of May in Poland, if this season is typical of the climate
here, is a period to dream about. When we turned out of our camp beds
early this morning, the sun was streaming into our little whitewashed
room, while the fragrance of lilacs blooming in a near-by garden
drifted in at the open window. In the little garden behind our house
are a dozen colonies of bees, and already they are up and about their
daily tasks. The sky is without a cloud and the warmth and life of
the early spring morning makes one forget the terrible business that
we are engaged in. The little street of the town is lined with great
horse-chestnut trees now in full bloom with every branch laden deep
with the great white pendent blossoms. For a moment one stands
drinking in the beauty of the new day and the loveliness of the
morning, with one’s mind drifting far, far away to other scenes where
flowers too are blooming at this season of the year. But as our eyes
wander down the street, the thoughts of gentler things are suddenly
dissipated, and with a jolt one’s mind comes back to the work-a-day
world whose daily task now is the destruction of an enemy in the line
of trenches not so many miles away.

What has broken the peaceful tremor of our thoughts is the sight of
some soldiers pulling into the town a half-wrecked aeroplane brought
down by artillery fire the day before near our lines. Its wings are
shattered and its propellers twisted into kindling, while its slight
body (if one can use that expression) is torn and punctured by a score
or more of shrapnel holes, with several gashes where bits of the shell
case had penetrated the thin metal frame. Here at least is one example
of artillery practice which has been able to cripple the bird of ill
omen on the wing. After a generous breakfast, provided by our kind
host the General, we are in our motor-cars again and in a few minutes
are speeding down one of the roads westward to the head-quarters of
a certain artillery brigade who over the telephone have consented to
show us particular choice sights that they have on exhibition on their
front.

Every village that we pass through is full of soldiers bestirring for
the day, while already the main arteries of travel to the trenches
are filling up with the activities of the morning. It is a perfectly
still day, and with each advancing hour it is growing hotter. There
has been no rain for a week or two, the dust is deep upon the roads,
and as our cars hum along the highways we leave volumes of the thin
cloud in our wake. Now and again we pass small columns of infantry
marching cheerfully along in the sunshine, each man in a cloud of dust.
Yet every face is cheerful, and almost without exception the men are
singing their marching songs as they swing along the highways. In the
villages and on the road everything suggests war, but now with quite a
different atmosphere from that of last autumn. Then it was war also,
but of war the novelty, the new and the untried. Then all faces were
anxious, some apprehensive, some depressed. They were going into a
new experience. Now, however, it is war as a tried and experienced
profession that is about us.

The conduct of the campaign has become as much of a business to the
soldiers and to the officers as the operating of a railroad to men
engaged in running it. The deaths and the wounds have become to these
men we see now simply a part of their profession, and they have seen
so much of this side of the business that it has long since been
discounted. The whole atmosphere of the front as we see it in May is
as that of a permanent state of society. These men look as though they
had been fighting for ten years and expected to be fighting for the
rest of their days. War has become the commonplace and peace seems the
unreality.

At brigade head-quarters we halt a few minutes and are directed to
proceed slowly along a certain road, and advised to stop in a cut just
before passing over a certain crest. When we learn that the enemy’s
guns command the road over the crest we inquire with the keenest
interest the exact location of the ridge mentioned, for something
suggests to us that this is a bit of interesting information that the
artillery officer is handing out to us so very casually. They are all
casual by the way; probably they have all got so used to sudden death
and destruction that they feel as nonchalant about their own fate as
they do about others. Half an hour’s run over very heavy and sandy
road, brought us on to a great white ribbon of a highway that ran due
west and dipped over the ridge.

This was our place, and stopping the cars we climbed out to meet a
few officers sauntering down the road. They seemed to be coming from
nowhere in particular, but as I learned later, they lived in a kind of
cave dug out of the side of the road, and had been advised by telephone
that we were coming and so were on the lookout for us. The ranking
officer was a colonel of artillery--one of the kind that you would turn
about in the street to look at and to say to yourself, “Every inch a
soldier.” A serious, kindly-faced man in a dirty uniform with shoulder
straps so faded and frayed that a second look was necessary to get his
rank at all. For six months he had been living in just such quarters
as the cave in the side of the road where we found him. He was glad to
show us his observation. One could see at a glance that his whole heart
and soul were wrapped up in his three batteries, and he spoke of all
his positions and his observation points with as much pride as a mother
speaking about her children.

The country here is a great sweeping expanse, with just a few ridges
here and there like the one that we have come up behind. The country
reminds one of the valley of the Danube or perhaps the Red River Valley
in North Dakota, except that the latter has less timber in it. We are
ourselves quite uncertain as to where the enemy’s position is, for in
the sweep of the valley there is little to indicate the presence of
any army at all, or to suggest the possibility of hostilities from any
quarter. I asked one of the officers who strolled along with us where
the German lines were. “Oh, over there,” he remarked, casually waving
his hand in a northerly direction. “Probably they can see us then,”
I suggested. Personally I felt a mild curiosity in the subject which
apparently my companion did not share. He stopped and offered me a
cigarette, and as he lighted one himself, he murmured indifferently,
“Yes, I dare say they could see us if they turned their glasses on this
ridge. But probably they won’t. Can I give you a light?”

I thanked him politely and also commended the sun for shining in the
enemy’s eyes instead of over their shoulders as happened last night
when the observer in the German battery spotted us at 6,000 yards
and sent five shells to tell us that we were receiving his highest
consideration. On the top of a near-by hill was a small building which
had formerly been the Russian observation point, but the Germans
suspecting this had quickly reduced it to a pile of ruins. Near by
we entered a trench cut in from the back of the hill, and worked our
way up to an observation station cut out of the side of the slope in
front of the former position.

[Illustration: A first-line trench in Poland.]

It was now getting on toward noon and intensely hot. The view from
this position as one could sweep it with the hyperscope was perfectly
beautiful. Off to the west twinkled the silver ribbon of the Rawka,
while the whole plain was dotted with fields of wheat and rye that
stretched below us like a chess board. Here and there where had been
houses were now but piles of ruins. The lines here were quite far
apart--perhaps half a mile, and in between them were acres of land
under cultivation. I think that the most remarkable thing that I have
seen in this war was the sight of peasants working between the lines
as calmly as though no such thing as war existed. Through the glasses
I could distinctly see one old white beard with a horse ploughing up a
field, and even as I was looking at him I saw a shell burst not half a
mile beyond him near one of the German positions. I mentioned it to one
of the officers. “Oh yes,” he said, “neither we nor the Germans fire on
the peasants nowadays. They must do their work and they harm neither of
us.”

On this part of the line the war seems to have become rather a listless
affair and perfunctory to say the least. I suppose both Germans
and Russians have instructions just now to hold themselves on the
defensive. At any rate I could distinctly see movements beyond the
German line, and I am sure they too must have detected the same on our
side. One man on a white horse was clearly visible as he rode along
behind the German trenches, while I followed with my glasses a German
motor-car that sped down a road leaving in its wake a cloud of dust.
Yet no one bothered much about either of them. Now and again one of our
big guns behind us would thunder, and over our heads we could hear the
diminishing wail of a 15-centimetre shell as it sped on its journey
to the German lines. Through the hyperscope one could clearly see the
clouds of dirt and dust thrown up by the explosion. One of these shells
fell squarely in one of the German trenches, and as the smoke drifted
away I could not help wondering how many poor wretches had been torn by
its fragments. After watching this performance for an hour or more, we
returned back through the trench and paid a visit to the Colonel in his
abode in the earth by the roadside. For half an hour or more we chatted
with him and then bade him good-bye.

A bit to the south-west of us lay a town which a few days ago was
shelled by the Germans. This town lies in a salient of our line, and
since the bombardment has been abandoned by all the population. As
it lay on the German side of the slope we had three miles of exposed
roadway to cover to get to it, and another three miles in view of the
German line to get out of it.

[Illustration: Russian General inspecting his gunners.]

As we sped down this three miles one felt a certain satisfaction that
one had a 95 horsepower Napier capable of doing 80 miles an hour. A
third of the town itself was destroyed by the German shell fire. The
rest was like a city of the dead. Not a human being of the population
was to be seen in the streets, which but a week ago were swarming with
people. Here and there a soldier from the near-by positions lounged on
an abandoned doorstep, or napped peacefully under one of the trees in
the square. The sun of noon looked down upon a deserted village, if one
does not count an occasional dog prowling about, or one white kitty
sitting calmly on a window ledge in the sunshine casually washing her
face. As ruins have long ceased to attract us, we did not loiter long
here, but turned eastward along the great white road that led back in
the direction of Warsaw.

There is one strip of this road which I suppose is not more than 4,500
yards from the German gun positions. Personally I am always interested
in these matters, and being of an inquiring turn of mind I asked my
friend the Russian officer, who was with me in the car, if he thought
the enemy could see us. “Oh yes,” he replied quite cheerfully. “I am
sure they can see us, but I don’t think they can hit us. Probably they
won’t try, as they are not wasting ammunition as much as they used to.
Won’t you have a cigarette?” I accepted the smoke gladly and concluded
that it is the Russian custom to offer one a cigarette every time one
asks this question about the German guns. Anyway, I got exactly the
same reply from this man as I did from the other in the morning.

Ten miles up the road we came on a bit of forest where the unfortunate
villagers who had been driven out by shell fire were camping. Here they
were in the wood living in rude lean-to’s, surrounded by all their
worldly possessions that they had the means of getting away. Cows,
ducks, pigs, and chicken roamed about the forests, while dozens of
children played about in the dust.

One picture I shall not forget. Before a hut made of straw and branches
of trees a mother had constructed a rude oven in the earth by setting
on some stones the steel top of the kitchen stove that she had brought
with her. Kneeling over the fire she was preparing the primitive
noonday meal. Just behind was a cradle in which lay a few weeks’ old
baby rocked by a little sister of four. Three other little children
stood expectantly around the fire, their little mouths watering for the
crude meal that was in preparation. Behind the cradle lay the family
cow, her soft brown eyes gazing mournfully at the cradle as she chewed
reflectively at her cud. In the door of the miserable little shelter
stretched a great fat sow sleeping sweetly with her lips twitching
nervously in her sleep. An old hen with a dozen chicks was clucking to
her little brood within the open end of the hut. This was all that war
had left of one home.

[Illustration: Telephoning to the battery from the observation
position.]

A hundred yards away a gang of labourers was digging in the forest.
It is no wonder that the mother looks nervously from her fire at
their work. Perhaps she wonders what they are about. We know. It is
another line of trenches. From what we have seen of the front line we
believe they will not be needed, but it is not strange that these poor
fugitives look on with anxious eyes with the question written large on
every face. Probably to them the war seems something from which they
cannot escape. They came to this wood for safety and now again they see
more digging of trenches going on.

Another hour on the road brings us back to the head-quarters of the
army and our day in May is over.




THE CHANGE OF FRONT IN POLAND AND THE BATTLE OF OPATOV




CHAPTER VIII

THE CHANGE OF FRONT IN POLAND AND THE BATTLE OF OPATOV


  Dated:

  OPATOV, POLAND,

  _May 31, 1915_.

For the last three days I have been with a certain army of the Russians
that occupies the strip of Poland between the Pilitza river and the
Vistula on the south. I feel intense regret that the restrictions of
the censor proscribe the identification of military units or of their
definite location. These wonderful corps, divisions and battalions
should, in my view, have all the honour that is their due, but the
writer can only abide by the wishes of the authorities by whose
kindness and courtesy he has been able to visit these positions.

Leaving Warsaw in a motor car in the evening, and running until an
early hour in the morning, we found ourselves the next day at the
head-quarters of one of the really great army commanders of Russia.
With him and the members of his staff we spent the chief part of the
morning, when every opportunity was given us to study the situation
within his jurisdiction. To go to the Front, as I have often written
before, means a two to three days’ trip, and the inspection of a
single detail of the vast operations that have been conducted. At the
suggestion of the Commander we decided to visit a certain army corps
in the south, whose success in the operations attending the change of
front had been so extraordinary, that everyone at the staff was filled
with pride and eager to have its work appreciated. Before going on to
describe the work of this particular corps it is proper to mention a
little more particularly the work of this one army as a whole since the
beginning of the war.

This army stood before Lublin during the crisis in the early days of
the war, and by uniting with that of Plevie, and the two joining with
Russky to the east of them, there resulted the first great crash to the
Austrian arms in Galicia. Later, this same army came back north and was
engaged in the terrific fighting around Ivangorod, which resulted in
the defeat of the enemy and their expulsion from Poland last autumn.

In the advance after the taking back of Radom and Kielce, the army
came under the very walls of Cracow, and in all of its divisions and
brigades there was scarcely a battalion that did not distinguish
itself in that terrific fighting. When the Germans began their second
invasion of Poland last autumn, this army regretfully fell back to its
positions on the Nida river, and when the last storm broke in Galicia
and the retirement of the army of the Dunajec rendered a change of
the Russian-Polish line a strategic necessity, the army with all its
numerous corps was again called upon to fall back in order that the
Front as a whole might be a symmetrical one.

During this change of front we heard a great deal in Warsaw, from
people who delight in circulating false stories, of Russian disasters
in Southern Poland. I have been particularly interested, therefore,
in checking up this movement on the ground and getting at the actual
facts of the case. As a fact, the Russian retirement was made amid the
lamentations and grumbling of the whole army. The private soldiers, who
do not follow strategy very closely, complained bitterly that they, who
had never met defeat, and before whom the enemy had always fallen back
when they attacked, should be called upon to retreat when they were
sure, regiment by regiment, that they could beat twice their numbers of
the enemy. The Germans and Austrians advanced with great caution for
several days. Knowing, however, the location of the new Russian line,
they imagined that their adversaries would fall back on it in a few big
marches and await them there. Besides this, both Germans and Austrians
had been carefully fed with reports of the Galician movement to the
effect that the Russians were retiring in utter defeat, that even in
Poland they were panic-stricken and would probably put up but a feeble
fight even on their line.

I could not in the brief time which I had for this trip visit all
the corps involved in this movement, and at the suggestion of the
General of the army, visited only the--corps, whose operations
may be regarded as typical of the whole spirit in which this front
was changed. Regarding the movement as a whole it is sufficient to
say that in the two weeks following the change of line in Poland,
the corps comprising this one army made the enemy suffer losses, in
killed, wounded and prisoners, which the General estimated at nearly
30,000, of whom about 9,000 were prisoners. All of this was done at
a comparatively trifling loss to the Russians themselves. From which
very brief summary of the change of front it will be realized that
this particular army has neither lost its fighting spirit nor has its
_moral_ suffered from the retirement to another line.

[Illustration: In the trenches near Opatov.]

There are so many big movements in this war that it is utterly
impossible for one observer to describe more than a trifling fraction
of the achievements that are made here. Since the General Staff have
given me what appears to be a free range in the north-eastern armies, I
have had so many interesting opportunities that it is difficult to pick
any one in preference to another. What I am writing in this story is
merely the narrative of a single corps during this change of front, and
I think it a significant story, because I believe it typifies not only
the corps of this particular army, but practically all the corps now in
the field on this Front. General Ragosa, who commands this corps, and
who has entertained me for the best part of three days, has given me
every opportunity to study his whole movement and permitted one of his
officers to prepare sketches, illustrating his movement. The General
himself, like most men who deal with big affairs, is a very modest and
simple man. To talk with him one would not guess that the movement
which has resulted so successfully for his corps and so disastrously
for the enemy, was the product of a programme worked out in the quiet
of a remote head-quarters and carried successfully through under his
direction by means of the field wire stretched through the forest for
the 30 kilometres that separate his head-quarters from the fighting
line.

When I suggested to him that his fighting around Opatov made an
extremely interesting story, he only shrugged his shoulders and
replied, “But in this war it is only a small fight. What is the
operation of a single army, much less the work of one of its units?”
Yet one feels that the success of this war will be the sum of the work
of the many units, and as this battle resulted in the entire breaking
up of the symmetry of the Austro-German following movement, and is
one of the few actions during the recent months of this war which was
fought in the open without trenches, it is extremely interesting.
Indeed, in any other war it would have been called a good-sized action;
from first to last on both sides I suppose that more than 100,000 men
and perhaps 350 to 400 guns were engaged. Let me describe it.

General Ragosa’s corps was on the Nida river, and it was with great
regret that the troops left the trenches that they had been defending
all winter. Their new line was extremely strong, and after they had
started, it was assumed by the enemy that they could leisurely follow
the Russians, and again sit down before their positions.

[Illustration: Second-line trenches, Opatov.]

But they were not counting on this particular General when they made
their advance. Instead of going back to his line, he brought his
units to the line running from Lubenia to and through Opatov to
the south, where he halted and awaited the advancing enemy who came
on in four divisions. These were the third German Landwehr division
who were moving eastward and a little to the north of Lubenia. Next,
coming from the direction of Kielce was the German division of General
Bredow supported by the 84th Austrian regiment; this unit was moving
directly against the manufacturing town of Ostzowiec. Further to the
south came the crack Austrian division, the 25th, which was composed
of the 4th Deutschmeister regiment from Vienna and the 25th, 17th and
10th Jäger units, the division itself being commanded by the Archduke
Peter Ferdinand. The 25th division was moving on the Lagow road headed
for Opatov, while the 4th Austrian division (a Landwehr formation)
supported by the 41st Honved division (regiments 20, 31, 32 and one
other) was making for the same objective. It is probable that the enemy
units, approaching the command of Ragosa, outnumbered the Russians in
that particular portion of the theatre of operations by at least forty
per cent. Certainly they never expected that any action would be given
by the supposedly demoralized Russians short of their fortified line,
to which they were supposed by the enemy to be retiring in hot haste.

General Ragosa wishing to finish up the weakest portion first, as usual
picked the Austrians for his first surprise party. But this action he
anticipated by making a feint against the German corps, driving in
their advance guards by vigorous attacks and causing the whole movement
to halt and commence deploying for an engagement. This took place
on May 15. On the same day with all his available strength he swung
furiously, with Opatov as an axis from both north and south, catching
the 25th division on the road between Lagow and Opatov with a bayonet
charge delivered from the mountain over and around which his troops had
been marching all night. Simultaneously another portion of his command
swept up on the 4th division coming from Iwaniska to Opatov. In the
meantime a heavy force of Cossacks had ridden round the Austrian line
and actually hit their line of communications at the exact time that
the infantry fell on the main column with a bayonet charge of such
impetuosity and fury that the entire Austrian formation crumpled up.

At the same time the 4th division was meeting a similar fate further
south; the two were thrown together in a helpless mass and suffered
a loss of between three and four thousand in casualties and nearly
three thousand in prisoners, besides losing a large number of machine
guns and the bulk of their baggage. The balance, supported by the
41st Honved division, which had been hurried up, managed to wriggle
themselves out of their predicament by falling back on Wokacow, and the
whole retired to Lagow, beyond which the Russians were not permitted
to pursue them lest they should break the symmetry of their own entire
line. Immediately after this action against the Austrians, a large
portion of the same troops made a forced march back over the mountain
which had separated the Austrians from their German neighbours and fell
on the right of the German formation, while the frontal attacks, which
had formerly been feints, were now delivered in dead earnest.

The result was that Bredow’s formation was taken suddenly in front
and on its right flank, and on May 18 began to fall back until it
was supported by the 4th Landwehr division, which had been hurriedly
snatched out of the line to the north to prevent Bredow from suffering
a fate similar to that which overtook the Austrians to the south. After
falling back to Bodzentin where it was joined by the supports from
the north, the Germans pulled themselves together to make a stand.
But here, as in the south, general orders prevented the Russians from
moving further against their defeated foe lest in their enthusiasm
they might advance too far and leave a hole in their own line. Thus
Ragosa’s command after four days of constant action came to a stand and
their part in the movement ended.

But the trouble of the enemy was not over. Ragosa at once discovered
that the 4th Landwehr division that had been hurried up to support
retreating Bredow, had been taken from the front of his neighbouring
corps, and this information he promptly passed on to his friend
commanding the -- corps who gladly passed the word on to his own front.
The regiments in that quarter promptly punched a hole in the German
weakened line, and with vicious bayonet attacks killed and captured
a large number of Germans, also forcing back their line. Something
similar happened in the corps to the south of Ragosa’s corps who were
in a fever of excitement because of the big fighting on the San, which
was going on just to their left while Ragosa’s guns were thundering
just to the north. The result was that out of a kind of sympathetic
contagion, they fixed bayonets and rushed on the enemy in their front
with a fury equal to that which was going on in both corps north of
them. Thus it came about that three quarters of this particular army
became engaged in general action by the sheer initiative of Ragosa,
and maintained it entirely by the enthusiasm of the troops engaged.
These corps even in retreat could not be restrained from going back and
having a turn with the enemy.

[Illustration: A second-line trench near Opatov.]

The change of front in Poland resulted in losses in killed, wounded and
prisoners to the enemy, approximating in this army alone between 20,000
and 30,000, with a loss to the Russians probably less than a third of
that number, besides resulting in an increase of _moral_ to the latter,
which has fully offset any depression caused by their retirement.
In talking with their officers, and I talked with at least a score,
I heard everywhere the same complaint, namely that it was becoming
increasingly difficult to keep their soldiers in the trenches. So eager
is the whole army to be advancing, that only constant discipline and
watching prevent individual units from becoming excited and getting up
and attacking, thus precipitating a general action which the Russians
wish to avoid while the movement in Galicia is one of fluctuation and
uncertainty.

Little definite information was available on this Front as to what was
going on further south, but certainly I found not the slightest sign
of depression among either men or officers with whom I talked. As one
remarked, “Well, what of it? You do not understand our soldiers. They
can retreat every day for a month and come back as full of fight at
the end of that time as when they started. A few Russian ‘defeats,’ as
the Germans call them, will be a disaster for the Kaiser. Don’t worry.
We will come back all right and it cannot be too soon for the taste of
this army.”




WITH THE ARMY IN SOUTHERN POLAND




CHAPTER IX

WITH THE ARMY IN SOUTHERN POLAND


  Dated:

  A CERTAIN ARMY CORPS HEAD-QUARTERS
  SOMEWHERE IN SOUTHERN POLAND

  _June 1, 1915_.

To-day has been one of the most interesting that I have spent since I
came to Russia last September. The General commanding this certain army
corps, which, while the war lasts, must not be identified, carefully
mapped out an ideal day for us, and made it possible of fulfilment
by placing two motors at our disposal and permitting a member of his
personal staff to accompany us as guide, philosopher and friend. This
very charming gentleman, M. Riabonschisky, represents a type which
one sees increasingly in the Russian Army as the war grows older. M.
Riabonschisky served his term of years in the army, and then being
wealthy and of a distinguished Moscow family, went into the banking
business, and the beginning of the war found him one of the leading
business men of the old Russian capital. With the first call he
instantly abandoned his desk and sedentary habits, and became again a
subaltern, which was his rank twenty odd years ago; when he came to the
Front it was as aide-de-camp of a General commanding an army corps.

In a shabby uniform and with face tanned to the colour of old leather
one now finds the Moscow millionaire working harder than a common
soldier. Our friend had by no means confined his activities to routine
work at head-quarters, but as the St. George’s Cross on his breast
indicated, had seen a bit of active service as well. Though he talked
freely enough on every known subject, I found him uncommunicative on
the subject of his Cross denoting distinguished merit in the face of an
enemy. A little persistent tact, however, finally got out of him that
before Lublin, in a crisis on the positions, he had gone to the front
line trenches in a motor car loaded with ammunition for the troops who
for lack of it were on the point of retiring. With the return trip he
brought out all the wounded his car could hold. This, then, was the
former banker who now accompanied us on a tour of inspection of the
army of which he was as proud as the Commanding General himself was.

[Illustration: Russian first-line trench near Lublin.

The companion picture shows the German position through loop-hole.]

[Illustration: German position near Lublin.

Photo taken through loop-hole in trench.]

Leaving our head-quarters we drove south through a beautiful woodland
for nearly two hours, to the headquarters of that certain division of
the army which has covered itself with glory in the recent fighting
around Opatov, where we were received cordially by the commander.
Telegrams sent ahead had advised him of our arrival, and he had done
his part in arranging details that our trip might be as interesting
as possible. After a few minutes drinking tea and smoking cigarettes
we again took cars and motored for another 16 versts to the town of
Opatov, where one of the brigade head-quarters was located. This quaint
old Polish town with a castle and a wall around it has been three times
visited by the tide of battle, and the hills about it (it lies in a
hollow) are pitted with the caves made by the uneasy inhabitants, whose
experience of shell fire has been disturbing. One imagines from the
number of dugouts one sees that the whole population might easily move
under ground at an hour’s notice. However, in spite of the tumult of
battles which have been fought around it, Opatov has not been scarred
by shell fire.

From here we went directly west on the road to Lagow for perhaps 5
versts, when we turned off suddenly on to a faint road and down into
a little hollow where a tiny village nestled in which we were told
we should find the head-quarters of a certain regiment that we had
come to visit. As our cars came over the crest of the hill we noticed
assembled on a flat field, that lay in the hollow, absolutely concealed
from the outside world, a block of troops standing under arms. My first
impression was that this was a couple of reserve units just going back
to the trenches to relieve their fellows. We were delighted at such a
bit of luck. On pulling up our cars by the side of the road we found
ourselves greeted by the Colonel and staff of the regiment, to whom we
were introduced by our guide. After a few words in Russian my friend
turned, his face wreathed in smiles, and said, “The Colonel is very
kind; he has ordered a review for your inspection.”

With the staff we strolled up to the centre of the field, where on
two sides we faced two of the most magnificent battalions of troops
that it has ever been my fortune to see, while on the third side were
parked the machine-gun batteries of the regiment. For a few minutes we
stood in the centre of the three-sided square while the Colonel, with
unconcealed pride, told us something of the history of the regiment
that stood before us. Its name and its corps must not be mentioned,
but it is permissible to say that it is from Moscow and is one of the
oldest regiments in the Russian service, with traditions running
back for 125 years. It is one of the two formations of the entire
Russian army which is permitted to march in review with fixed bayonets,
a distinction acquired by 125 years of history marked by successful
work with cold steel.

[Illustration: March-past of the Gonogoriski Regiment.]

I have written in a previous chapter of the fighting around Opatov and
of the wonderful work done by the troops of this army corps. Now we
learned from the Colonel that it was his regiment that made the march
over the mountain, and fell with the bayonet upon the flank of the 25th
Austrian division with such an impetus and fury that every man had
killed or captured a soldier of the enemy. That we might not minimize
the glory of his men the Colonel assured us that the Austrian 25th was
no scrub Landwehr or reserve formation, but the very élite of the élite
of the Austrian army, embodying the famous Deutschmeister regiment from
Vienna, which was supposed to be the finest organization of infantry
in the Hapsburg realm. What we saw before us were two of the four
battalions of the Moscow regiment who were in reserve for a few days’
rest, while their brothers in the other two battalions were 4 versts
forward in the fighting line.

Suddenly the Colonel turned about and in a voice of thunder uttered
a command, and instantly the two thousand men became as rigid as
two thousand statues. Another word, and with the click of a bit of
well-oiled mechanism, two thousand rifles came to the present. Another
command from the Colonel and the regimental band on the right flank,
with its thirty pieces of brass, burst forth with “Rule Britannia.” A
moment’s silence followed, and then came the strains of the American
National Anthem, followed in turn by the Russian National Anthem.

As the last strain died away there came another sharp command from the
Colonel, and once more the mechanism clicked and two thousand guns came
to the ground as one. Then, stepping out from the little group of the
staff, the Colonel addressed the regiment in a deep melodious voice
in words that carried to the furthest man. I have written much of the
rapidly growing feeling of friendship and affection between England
and Russia. For six months I have noticed a gradual development of
this sentiment, but I have never realized until this day that it was
percolating to the very foundations of the Russian people. In Petrograd
and Moscow one naturally expects the diplomats and politicians to
emphasize this point to a member of the press. But out at the Front
these men who deal in steel and blood are not given to fine phrases,
nor are they wont to speak for effect. For ten months their lives have
been lives of danger and hardships, and in their eyes and in their
faces one sees sincerity and truth written large for those who study
human nature to read. The speech was to me so impressive that it seems
well worth while to quote the officer’s stirring words, words which
found an echo in the heart of the writer, who is an American citizen
and not a British subject at all. With his hand held aloft the Colonel
said:--

[Illustration: Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment cheering King George V.]

“Attention,--Gentlemen, officers and soldiers: We have to-day the
honour to receive the representatives of the great English nation, our
faithful allies now fighting with us for the good of us all to punish
our common treacherous enemy. They are dear to our hearts because
they are conducting this war with such sacrifices and such incredible
bravery. It is a great pleasure and privilege for our regiment to see
among us the representatives of the country where dwell the bravest
of the brave. This regiment, beloved of Suvoroff, will always do its
uttermost to uphold the reputation of Russian arms, that they may be
worthy to fight this battle shoulder to shoulder with their noble
allies in the British army. Officers and soldiers, I call for a hearty
cheer for the great King of England. Long live George the Fifth.”

The response came from two thousand lungs and throats with the
suddenness of a clap of thunder. Out of the misery and chaos of this
world-disaster there is surely coming a new spirit and a new-found
feeling of respect and regard between the allied nations, a feeling
which in itself is perhaps laying the foundation of a greater peace
movement than all the harangues and platitudes of the preachers of
pacificism. Before this war I dare say that England and the English
meant nothing to the peasant soldier of Russia. This is no longer true,
and to stand as I stood in this hollow square and listen for five
minutes to these war-stained veterans cheering themselves hoarse for
the ally whom they have been taught to consider the personification
of soldierly virtues, was to feel that perhaps from this war may
come future relations which the next generation will look back upon
as having in large measure justified the price. The Colonel raised
his hand and instantly the tumult died away. The Colonel courteously
invited me to address the Regiment on behalf of England, but as a
neutral this was an impossible role.

[Illustration: Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment.]

Afterwards the Colonel ordered a review of the two battalions, and in
company formation they passed by with their bayonets at the charge and
with every eye fixed on the commander, while every officer marched at
the salute. I have never seen a more impressive body of men. Dirty
and shabby, with faces tanned like shoe leather, and unshaven,
they marched past, the picture of men of action. In each face was the
pride of regiment and country and the respect of self. As they passed,
company after company, the beaming Colonel said to me, “When my men
come at the charge the Austrians never wait for them to come into the
trenches. They fire on us until we are within ten feet and then they
fall on their knees and beg for quarter.” As the writer looked into
these earnest serious faces that passed by, each seamed with lines of
grim determination and eyes steeled with the hardness engendered by
war, he felt an increased respect for the Austrian who waited until
the enemy were within ten feet. Somehow one felt that a hundred feet
start would be an insufficient handicap to get away from these fellows
when they came for one with their bayonets levelled and their leather
throats howling for the blood of the enemy.

After the infantry we inspected the machine-gun batteries of the
regiment, and with special pride the Colonel showed us the four
captured machine-guns taken from the Austrians in the recent action,
together with large quantities of ammunition. After the machine-guns
were examined, the heroes of the St. George’s Cross, decorated in the
recent battle, were brought forward to be photographed. Then the band
played the air of the regiment, while the officers of the regiment
joined in singing a rousing melody which has been the regimental song
for the 125 years of its existence. Then, preceded by the band, we
went to the Colonel’s head-quarters, where lunch was served, the band
playing outside while we ate.

The head-quarters of the Colonel were in a schoolhouse hurriedly
adapted to the needs of war. Our table was the children’s blackboard
taken from the walls and stretched between two desks, the scholars’
benches serving us in lieu of chairs. The only thing in the whole
establishment that did not reek of the necessities of war was the food,
which was excellent. The rugged Colonel, lean as a race horse and as
tough as whipcord, may in some former life when he was in Moscow have
been an epicure and something of a good liver. Anyway the cooking was
perfection.

In conversation with a number of the men who sat at table, I heard
that their regiment had been in thirty-four actions since the war had
started. The Colonel himself had been wounded no less than three times
in the war. One Captain of the staff showed me a hat with a bullet
hole in the top made in the last battle; while the Lieutenant-Colonel
laughingly told me that they could not kill him at all; though he
received seventeen bullets through his clothes since the war started
he had never been scratched in any action in which he had been engaged.
The tactical position of a Colonel in the Russian army is in the rear,
I am told, but in this regiment I learned from one of the officers, the
Colonel rarely was in the rear, and on more than one occasion he had
led the charge at the very head of his men.




AN AFTERNOON AT THE “POSITIONS”




CHAPTER X

AN AFTERNOON AT THE “POSITIONS”


  Dated:

  SOMEWHERE IN POLAND,

  _June 2, 1915_.

Provided with carriages we left our hospitable Colonel for the front
trenches 4 versts further on. As we were near the Front when we were at
regimental head-quarters it was not deemed safe to take the motor-cars
any further, on account of the clouds of dust which they leave in their
wake.

The country here is spread out in great rolling valleys with very
little timber and only occasional crests or ridges separating one
beautiful verdant stretch of landscape from another. It struck one as
quite obvious in riding over this country that the men who planned
these roads had not taken war into consideration. Had they done so
they certainly would not have placed them so generally along ridges,
where one’s progress can be seen from about 10 versts in every
direction. As I have mentioned in an earlier chapter, this particular
army had not fallen back on its fortified and prepared line, but was
camping out about 25 to 30 versts in front of it in positions which
were somewhat informal. In riding through this country one has the
unpleasant sensation that every time one shows up on a ridge, an
enemy of an observing and enterprising disposition might be tempted
to take a shot at one just for practice. My friend the banker soldier
explained, however, that we should be difficult to hit, and anyway he
rather enjoyed shell fire. “It is a sort of nice game,” he told me with
a charming smile, “one finds it very entertaining and not altogether
dangerous.”

However his insouciance did not prevent him taking the precaution of
forbidding the use of motor-cars with their clouds of dust, and he was
quite content that we should take the carriages, which made less of a
target on the dry roads.

From regimental head-quarters we went up into a little gulch where we
again found that we were expected, and a genial Colonel of a howitzer
battery was waiting to entertain us. Five of our guns were sitting
along the road with their muzzled noses up in the air at an angle of
about 35 degrees waiting, waiting for some one to give them word to
shoot at something or other.

[Illustration: Howitzer battery in Poland.]

Batteries are always peculiarly fascinating to me; they always appear
so perfect in their efficiency, and capable of getting work done when
required. These five were of the 4-inch variety, with an elevation of
forty-five degrees obtainable.

At a word from the Colonel they were cleared for action and their
sighting apparatus inspected and explained. As usual they were equipped
with panorama sights, with the aiming point a group of trees to the
right and rear of the position, and with their observation point 3
miles away in a trench near the infantry line. The sixth gun was
doing lonely duty a mile away in a little trench all by itself. This
position the Colonel informed us was shelled yesterday by the enemy,
who fired thirty-five 12-centimetre shells at them without scoring a
single hit. After looking at the guns we spent an hour at tea, and
then in our carts pushed on up the valley, where we found a regiment
of Cossack cavalry in reserve. The hundreds of horses were all saddled
and wandering about, each meandering where its fancy led. Everywhere on
the grass and under the few clumps of brush were sitting or sleeping
the men, few of whom had any shelter or tents of any kind, and the
whole encampment was about as informal as the encampment of a herd of
cattle. In fact the Cossacks impress one as a kind of game who have
no more need of shelter or comforts than the deer of the forest. When
they settle down for the night they turn their horses loose, eat a bit
of ration and then sit under a tree and go to sleep. It is all very
charming and simple. Our guide informed us that when they wanted their
horses they simply went out and whistled for them as a mother sheep
bleats for its young, and that in a surprisingly short time every
soldier found his mount. The soldiers are devoted to their horses,
and in a dozen different places one could see them rubbing down their
mounts or rubbing their noses and petting them.

From this encampment the road went up to its usual place on the crest
of the hill. The soldier driver of our carriage did not seem to feel
the same amount of enthusiasm about the “nice game” of being shelled,
and protested as much as he dared about taking the horses further; but
being quietly sat upon, he subsided with a deep sigh and started up
over the ridge in the direction of a clump of houses beyond another
rise of ground at an astonishingly rapid speed. From the crest along
which we travelled we had a beautiful view of a gently undulating
valley lying peaceful and serene under the warm afternoon sun. A few
insects buzzing about in the soft air near the carriage were the
only signs of life about us. We drove up at a good round pace to
the little clump of trees which sheltered a group of farm buildings.
As we were getting out of our carriage there was a sharp report to the
road on our right, and looking back I saw the fleecy white puff of a
shrapnel shell breaking just over the road to the north of us. Like
the bloom of cotton the smoke hung for an instant in the air and then
slowly expanding drifted off. A moment later, almost in the same place,
another beautiful white puff, with its heart of copper-red, appeared
over the road, and again the sharp sound of its burst drifted across
the valley. The Austrian shrapnel has a bit of reddish-brown smoke
which must be, I think, from the bursting charge in the shell.

[Illustration: Cossacks on the Dniester. Officers’ quarters in the
woods.]

Our guide was quite delighted and smiled and clicked his heels
cheerfully as he ushered us into the little room of the officer
commanding the regiment in the trenches just ahead of us. Even as he
greeted us, the telephone rang in the little low-ceilinged room of the
cottage, and he excused himself as he went to reply to it. In a few
minutes he came back with an annoyed expression on his face. “These
unpleasant Austrians,” he said in disgust. “They are always up to their
silly tricks. They have been shelling some Red Cross carts on the road.
I have just ordered the howitzer battery in our rear to come into
action and we shall see if we cannot give them a lesson in manners.”

After a few pleasantries he asked what it was that we would most like,
and I replied in my stock phrases, “Observation points and trenches, if
you please.” He stood for a moment studying the tip of his dusty boot;
evidently he was not very eager about the job. However, he shrugged
his shoulders and went back to the telephone, and after a few minutes
conversation came back and said to us: “It is a very bad time to go
into our trenches, as we have no covered ways, and in the daytime one
is seen, and the enemy always begin firing. It is very unsafe, but if
you are very anxious I shall permit one of you to go forward, though it
is not convenient. When the enemy begin to fire, our batteries reply,
and firing starts in all the trenches. The soldiers like to fight, and
it doesn’t take much to start them.”

Put in this way none of us felt very keen about insisting. So we all
compromised by a visit to a secondary position, which we were told was
not very dangerous, as the enemy could only reach it with their shell
fire and “of course no one minds that,” as the officer casually put it.
We all agreed that, of course, we did not mind that, and so trooped off
with the Colonel to the trenches and dug-outs where the troops who
were not in the firing line were in immediate reserve.

The group of dug-outs was flanked with trenches, for, as the Colonel
informed us, “Who knows when this position may be attacked?” And then
he added, “You see, though we are not in the direct view of the enemy
here, they know our whereabouts and usually about this time of day they
shell the place. They can reach it very nicely and from two different
directions. Yesterday it became so hot in our house that we all spent a
quiet afternoon in the dug-outs.” He paused and offered us a cigarette,
and as he did so there came a deep boom from our rear and a howitzer
shell wailed over our heads on its mission of protest to the Austrians
about firing on Red Cross wagons. A few seconds later the muffled
report of its explosion came back across the valley. A second later
another and another shell went over our heads. The Colonel smiled, “You
see,” he said, “my orders are being carried out. No doubt the enemy
will reply soon.”

His belief was justified. A moment later that extremely distressing
sound made by an approaching shell came to our ears, followed
immediately by its sharp report as it burst in a field a few hundred
yards away. I looked about at the soldiers and officers around me, but
not one even cast a glance in the direction of the smoke drifting away
over the field near by. After wandering about his position for half or
three-quarters of an hour, we returned to the cottage. It consisted of
but three rooms. The telephone room, a little den where the officers
ate, and a large room filled with straw on which they slept at night,
when sleeping was possible.

Here we met a fine grey-haired, grizzled Colonel, who, as my banker
friend informed me, commanded a neighbouring regiment, the --
Grenadiers. He is one of our finest officers and is in every way
worthy of his regiment, the history of which stretches back over two
centuries. The officer himself looked tired and shabby, and his face
was deeply lined with furrows. We read about dreadful sacrifices in
the Western fighting, but I think this regiment, which again I regret
that I cannot name, has suffered as much in this war as any unit on any
Front. In the two weeks of fighting around Cracow alone it has dwindled
from 4,000 men to 800, and that fortnight represented but a small
fraction of the campaigning which it has done since the war started.
Again and again it has been filled to its full strength, and after
every important action its ranks were depleted hideously. Now there are
very few left of the original members, but as an officer proudly said,
“These regiments have their traditions of which their soldiers are
proud. Put a moujik in its uniform and to-morrow he is a grenadier and
proud of it.”

The Colonel, who sat by the little table as we talked, did not speak
English, but in response to the question of a friend who addressed him
in Russian, he said with a tired little smile, “Well, yes, after ten
months one is getting rather tired of the war. One hopes it will soon
be over and that one may see one’s home and children once more, but one
wonders if----” He paused, smiled a little, and offered us a cigarette.
It is not strange that these men who live day and night so near the
trenches that they are never out of sound of firing, and never sleep
out of the zone of bursting shells, whose every day is associated with
friends and soldiers among the fallen, wonder vaguely if they will ever
get home. The trench occupied by this man’s command was so exposed that
he could only reach it unobserved by crawling on his stomach over the
ridge, and into the shallow ditch that served his troops for shelter.

Leaving the little farm we drove back over the road above which we had
seen the bursting shells on our arrival, but our own batteries, no
doubt, had diverted the enemy from practice on the road, for we made
the 3 versts without a single one coming our way.

It was closing twilight when we started back for the head-quarters that
we had left in the early morning. The sun had set and the peace and
serenity of the evening were broken only by the distant thunder of an
occasional shell bursting in the west. From the ridge over which our
road ran I could distinctly see the smoke from three different burning
villages fired by the German artillery. One wonders what on earth the
enemy have in mind when they deliberately shell these pathetic little
patches of straw-thatched peasant homes. Even in ordinary times these
people seem to have a hard life in making both ends meet, but now in
the war their lot is a most wretched one. Apparently hardly a day
passes that some village is not burned by the long range shells of the
enemy’s guns. That such action has any military benefit seems unlikely.
The mind of the enemy seems bent on destruction, and everywhere their
foot is placed grief follows.

The next morning for several hours I chatted with the General and
his Chief of Staff, and found, as always at the Front, the greatest
optimism. “Have you seen our soldiers at the Front?” is the question
always asked, and when one answers in the affirmative they say, “Well,
then how can you have any anxiety as to the future. These men may
retire a dozen times, but demoralized or discouraged they are never.
We shall win absolutely surely. Do not doubt it.”

[Illustration: The Polish Legion.]

One forms the opinion that the place for the pessimist is at the Front.
In the crises one leaves the big cities in a cloud of gloom, and the
enthusiasm and spirit increase steadily, until in the front trenches
one finds the officers exercising every effort to keep their men from
climbing out of their shelters and going across the way and bayoneting
the enemy. The morale of the Russian Army as I have seen it in these
last weeks is extraordinary.

We left head-quarters and motored over wretched roads to the little
town of Ilza where the quaintest village I have seen lies in a little
hollow beneath a hill on which is perched the old ruin of a castle,
its crumbling ramparts and decaying battlements standing silhouetted
against the sky. We halted in the village to inquire the condition
of the road to Radom, for the day we came this way the enemy had
been shelling it and the remains of a horse scattered for 50 feet
along the highway told us that their practice was not bad at all. We
were informed that the artillery of the Germans commanded the first
4 versts, but after that it was safe enough. Somehow no one feels
much apprehension about artillery fire, and in our speedy car we
felt confident enough of doing the 4 versts in sufficient haste to
make the chance of a shot hitting us at 6,500 yards a very slight
one. As soon as we came out of the hollow, and along the great white
road which stretched across the green fields, I saw one of the great
sausage-shaped German Zeppelins hanging menacingly in the sky to the
west of us. It was a perfectly still day and the vessel seemed quite
motionless.

At the end of the 4 versts mentioned there was a long hill, and then
the road dipped out of sight into another valley where the omniscient
eye of the German sausage could not follow us. It was in my own mind
that it would not be unpleasant when we crossed the ridge. We were just
beginning the climb of the hill when our own motor-car (which had been
coughing and protesting all day) gave three huge snorts, exploded three
times in the engine, and came to a dead stop on the road, with that
indescribable expression on its snubby inanimate nose of a car that
had finished for the day. The part of the road that we were on was as
white as chalk against the green of the hill, with only a few skinny
trees (at least they certainly looked skinny to me) to hide us. Frantic
efforts to crank the car and get it started only resulted in a few
explosions, and minor protests from its interior.

So there we sat in the blazing sun while our extremely competent
chauffeur took off his coat and crawled under the car and did a
lot of tinkering and hammering. He was such a good and cool-headed
individual and went about his work so conscientiously that one did
not feel inclined to go off in the one good car and leave him alone
in his predicament. So we all sat under the skinny tree and smoked
while we watched three shells burst on the road over which we had
just passed. I must confess to a feeling of extreme annoyance at this
particular moment. One can feel a certain exaltation in hustling down
a road at seventy miles an hour and being shot at, but somehow there
is very little interest in sitting out in the blazing sun on a white
road hoping that you can get your car started before the enemy gets
your range. About the time the third shell landed on the road, our
car changed its mind and its engines suddenly went into action with
a tumult like a machine gun battery. We climbed in our cars and the
driver threw in the clutches and our motor made at least fifty feet in
one jump and went over the crest of the hill in a cloud of dust. The
man who sold it to me assured me that it once did 140 versts on a race
track in one hour. My own impression is that it was doing about 150 an
hour when it cleared the ridge and the Zeppelin was lost to sight.

An hour later we were in Radom, and by midnight back once more in
Warsaw.




HOW THE RUSSIANS MET THE FIRST GAS ATTACK




CHAPTER XI

HOW THE RUSSIANS MET THE FIRST GAS ATTACK


  Dated:

  ZYRARDOW, POLAND,

  _June 5, 1915_.

One of the finest stories of fortitude and heroism that the war on this
front has produced is of how the Siberian troops met the first large
scale attack upon their lines in which the enemy made use of the gas
horror, that latest product of the ingenuity of the Germans who boast
so loudly and so continuously of their _kultur_ and the standards of
civilization and humanity which they declare it is their sacred duty to
force upon the world.

There has been a lull in the fighting on this immediate front for some
time, due to the fact that the Germans have diverted all the troops
that they could safely spare to strengthen their concentration in
Galicia. Only an occasional spasm of fighting with bursts of artillery
firing, first in one point and then another, have created sufficient
incident to mark one day from another. During this time the reports
of the use of poisoned gases and shells containing deadly fumes have
drifted over to this side, and it has been expected that sooner or
later something of the same sort would be experienced on the Bzura
front. Many times we have had shells containing formaline fumes and
other noxious poisons sent screaming over our trenches, but their use
heretofore seemed rather in the nature of an experiment than of a
serious innovation. Enough, however, has been said about them here,
and when the effort on a wholesale scale was made, it found our troops
prepared morally, if not yet with actual equipment in the way of
respirators.

The first battle of the gases occurred early on the morning of Sunday,
the 30th of May. The days are very long here now, and the first pale
streaks of grey were just tinging the western horizon, when the
look-outs in the Russian trenches on the Bzura discovered signs of
activity in the trenches of the enemy which at this point are not very
far away from our lines. War has become such an every-day business that
an impending attack creates no more excitement in the trenches than a
doctor feels when he is called out at night to visit a patient. Word
was passed down the trenches to the sleeping soldiers, who at once
crawled out of their shelters and dug-outs, and rubbing their sleepy
eyes took their places at the loopholes and laid out, ready for use,
their piles of cartridge clips. The machine gun operators uncovered
their guns and looked to them to see that all was well oiled and
working smoothly, while the officers strolled about the trenches with
words of advice and encouragement to their men.

Back in the reserve trenches the soldiers were turning out more
leisurely in response to the alarm telephoned back. Regimental,
brigade, division and army corps head-quarters were notified, and
within ten minutes of the first sign of a movement, the entire position
threatened was on the _qui vive_ without excitement or confusion. But
this was to be no ordinary attack; while preparations were still going
forward, new symptoms never hitherto observed, were noticeable on the
German line. Straw was thrown out beyond the trenches and was being
sprinkled with a kind of white powder which the soldiers say resembled
salt. While the Russians were still puzzling about the meaning of
it all, fire was put to the straw in a dozen places. Instantly from
the little spots of red flame spreading in both directions until the
line of twinkling fire was continuous, huge clouds of fleecy white
smoke rolled up. The officers were quick to realize what was coming,
and instantly the word was passed to the soldiers that they must be
prepared to meet a new kind of attack. After a rapid consultation and
advice from head-quarters over the telephone, it was decided that
it would be best for our men to remain absolutely quiet in their
trenches, holding their fire until the enemy were at their barbed wire
entanglements, in order to beguile the Germans into the belief that
their gases were effective, and that they were going to be able to
occupy the Russian trenches without losing a man.

Officers and non-commissioned officers went through the trenches
telling the soldiers what they must expect, and imposing silence on
all, and prohibiting the firing of a gun until the enemy were almost
upon them when they were to open up with all the rapidity of fire that
they could command. In the meantime the wind of early morning air was
rolling the cloud gently toward the waiting Russians.

I have been able through certain channels, which I cannot at present
mention, to secure a considerable amount of information as to the
German side of this attack. When it became known in the trenches of
the enemy that these gases were to be used, there is reason to believe
that there was a protest from the soldiers against it. Many of the
Russians are charitable enough to take the point of view that the
common soldier resorts to these methods because he is forced to do so,
and they say that the German private rebelled at the idea of using so
hideous a method of conducting warfare. Others, while they accept the
story of the soldiers’ opposition, declare they only feared the effects
of the gas upon themselves. In any event there is evidence that their
officers told them that the gas was a harmless one, and would simply
result in putting the Russians into a state of unconsciousness from
which they would recover in a few hours, and by that time the Germans
would have been able to take their trenches without the loss of a man.
It was at first believed that the white powder placed on the straw was
the element of the poison gas, but it later appeared that this was
merely to produce a screen of heavy and harmless smoke behind which the
real operations could be conducted. The actual source of the gas was in
the trenches themselves.

Steel cylinders or tanks measuring a metre in length by perhaps 6
inches in width were let in end downwards into the floor of the trench,
with perhaps half of the tanks firmly bedded in the ground. At the head
of the cylinder was a valve, and from this ran a lead pipe over the
top of the parapet and then bent downwards with the opening pointed
to the ground. These tanks were arranged in groups of batteries the
unit of which was ten or twelve, each tank being perhaps two feet from
its neighbour. Between each group was a space of twenty paces. I have
not been able to learn the exact length of the prepared trenches, but
it was perhaps nearly a kilometre long. As soon as their line was
masked by the volumes of the screening smoke, these taps were turned
on simultaneously and instantly the thick greenish yellow fumes of the
chloral gas poured in expanding clouds upon the ground, spreading like
a mist upon the face of the earth.

There was a drift of air in the direction of the Russian trenches,
and borne before this the poison rolled like a wave slowly away from
the German line toward the positions of the Russians, the gas itself
seeking out and filling each small hollow or declivity in the ground
as surely as water, so heavy and thick was its composition. When it
was fairly clear of their own line the Germans began to move, all the
men having first been provided with respirators that they might not
experience the effects of the “harmless and painless” gas prepared for
the enemy. Ahead of the attacking columns went groups of sappers with
shears to cut the Russian entanglements; and behind them followed the
masses of the German infantry, while the rear was brought up, with
characteristic foresight, by soldiers bearing tanks of oxygen to
assist any of their own men who became unconscious from the fumes.

The advance started somewhat gingerly, for the soldiers do not seem
to have had the same confidence in the effects of the gas as their
officers. But as they moved forward there was not a sound from the
Russian trench, and the word ran up and down the German line that
there would be no defence, and that for once they would take a Russian
position without the loss of a man. One can fancy the state of mind of
the German troops in these few minutes. No doubt they felt that this
new “painless” gas was going to be a humane way of ending the war,
that their chemists had solved the great problem, and that in a few
days they would be marching into Warsaw. Then they reached the Russian
entanglements, and without warning were swept into heaps and mounds of
collapsing bodies by the torrent of rifle and machine gun fire which
came upon them from every loophole and cranny of the Russian position.

The Russian version of the story is one that must inspire the troops
of the Allies, as it has inspired the rest of the army over here. Some
time before the Germans actually approached, the green yellow cloud
rolled into the trenches and poured itself in almost like a column
of water; so heavy was it that it almost fell to the floor of the
trenches. The patient Siberians stood without a tremor as it eddied
around their feet and swept over their faces in constantly increasing
volumes. Thus for some minutes they stood wrapping hand-kerchiefs about
their faces, stifling their sounds, and uttering not a word while
dozens fell suffocating into the trench. Then at last in the faint
morning light could be seen the shadowy figures of the Germans through
the mist; then at last discipline and self-control were released, and
every soldier opened fire pumping out his cartridges from his rifle as
fast as he could shoot. The stories of heroism and fortitude that one
hears from the survivors of this trench are exceptional. One Siberian
who was working a machine gun had asked his comrade to stand beside
him with wet rags and a bucket of water. The two bodies were found
together, the soldier collapsed over the machine gun, whose empty
cartridge belt told the story of the man’s last effort having gone to
work his gun, while sprawling over the upset bucket was the dead body
of the friend who had stood by and made his last task possible.

[Illustration: The colours of the Siberians.]

Officers in the head-quarters of regiment and divisions tell of the
operators at the telephones clinging to their instruments until only
the sounds of their choking efforts to speak came over the wire, and
then silence. Some were found dead with the receivers in their
hands, while others were discovered clutching muskets fallen from the
hands of the infantry that had succumbed. In this trying ordeal not
a man, soldier or officer budged from his position. To a man they
remained firm, some overcome, some dying, and others already dead. So
faithful were they to their duty, that before the reserves reached
them the Germans were already extricating themselves from their own
dead and wounded, and hurriedly beating a retreat toward their own
lines. From the rear trenches now came, leaping with hoarse shouts of
fury, the columns of the Siberian reserves. Through the poisoned mist
that curled and circled at their feet, they ran, many stumbling and
falling from the effect of the noxious vapours. When they reached the
first line trench, the enemy was already straggling back in retreat, a
retreat that probably cost them more dearly than their attack; for the
reserves, maddened with fury poured over their own trenches, pursued
the Germans, and with clubbed rifle and bayonet took heavy vengeance
for comrades poisoned and dying in the first line trench. So furiously
did the Siberians fall upon the Germans that several positions in the
German line were occupied, numbers of the enemy who chose to remain
dying under the bayonet or else falling on their knees with prayers
for mercy. Somewhat to the south of the main gas attack there came a
change in the wind, and the poisoned fumes blew back into the trenches
of the Germans, trenches in which it is believed the occupants were
not equipped with respirators. The Russians in opposite lines say that
the cries of the Germans attacked by their own fumes were something
horrible to listen to, and their shrieks could have been heard half a
mile away.

Thus ended the first German effort to turn the Russians out of their
positions by the use of a method which their rulers had pledged
themselves in treaty never to adopt. The net results were an absolute
defeat of the Germans, with the loss of several of their own positions,
and a loss in dead and wounded probably three times greater than
was suffered by the Russians. Even although it was unexpected and
unprepared for, this first attempt was an absolute failure; the only
result being an increase of fury on the part of the Russian soldiers
that makes it difficult to keep them in their trenches, so eager are
they to go over and bayonet their enemies.




SOME DETAILS REGARDING THE GAS HORROR




CHAPTER XII

SOME DETAILS REGARDING THE GAS HORROR


  WARSAW,
  _June 8_.

Ever since my return from the southern armies last week I have spent
practically my entire time in the study and investigation of the newest
phase of frightfulness as practised by the German authorities. Ten
months of war and an earlier experience in Manchuria of what misery it
represents even when conducted in the most humane way have not tended
to make me over-sensitive to the sights and sufferings which are the
inevitable accompaniment of the conflict between modern armies; but
what I have seen in the last week has impressed me more deeply than the
sum total of all the other horrors which I have seen in this and other
campaigns combined. The effects of the new war methods involve hideous
suffering and are of no military value whatsoever (if results on this
front are typical); while they reduce war to a barbarity and cruelty
which could not be justified from any point of view, even were the
results obtained for the cause of the user a thousandfold greater than
they have proved to be.

I found on my return from the south the whole of Warsaw in a fever
of riotous indignation against the Germans and the German people as
the result of the arrival of the first block of gas victims brought
in from the Bzura front. I have already described the attack made on
the Russian position, its absolute failure, and the result it had of
increasing the morale of the Russian troops. I must now try to convey
to the reader an idea of the effects which I have personally witnessed
and ascertained by first hand investigation of the whole subject. The
investigation has taken me from the Warsaw hospitals, down through the
various army, corps, division and regimental head-quarters, to the
advance trenches on which the attack was actually made. I have talked
with every one possible, from generals to privates, and from surgeons
to the nurses, and to the victims themselves, and feel, therefore, that
I can write with a fair degree of authority.

The gas itself, I was told at the front, was almost pure chloral
fumes; but in the hospitals here they informed me that there were
indications of the presence of a small trace of bromine, though it has
proved somewhat difficult to make an exact analysis. The effect of
the gas when inhaled is to cause an immediate and extremely painful
irritation of the lungs and the bronchial tubes, which causes instantly
acute suffering. The gas, on reaching the lungs, and coming in contact
with the blood, at once causes congestion, and clots begin to form
not only in the lungs themselves but in the blood-vessels and larger
arteries, while the blood itself becomes so thick that it is with
great difficulty that the heart is able to force it through the veins.
The first effects, then, are those of strangulation, pains throughout
the body where clots are forming, and the additional misery of the
irritation which the acid gases cause to all the mucous membranes to
which it is exposed. Some of the fatal cases were examined by the
surgeons on the post-mortem table, and it was found that the lungs were
so choked with coagulated blood that, as one doctor at the front told
me, they resembled huge slabs of raw liver rather than lungs at all.
The heart was badly strained from the endeavour to exert its functions
against such obstacles, and death had resulted from strangulation.

Though the unfortunates who succumbed suffered hideously, their lot
was an easy one compared to the lot of the miserable wretches who
lingered on and died later. One might almost say that even those that
are recovering have suffered so excruciatingly as to make life dear
at the price. Those who could be treated promptly have for the most
part struggled back to life. Time only will show whether they recover
entirely, but from evidence obtained, I am inclined to believe many
of them will be restored to a moderate condition of good health after
their lungs are healed. The first treatment employed by the Russians
when their patients come to the hospitals, is to strip them of all
clothing, give them a hot bath and put them into clean garments. This
is done for the protection of the nurses as well as of the victims,
for it was found that many of the helpers were overcome by the residue
of the fumes left in the clothing, so deadly was the nature of the
chemical compound used.

Even after these cases were brought to Warsaw and put into clean linen
pyjamas and immaculate beds, the gas still given out from their lungs
as they exhaled so poisoned the air in the hospital that some of the
women nurses were affected with severe headaches and with nausea. From
this it may be gathered that the potency of the chloral compound is
extremely deadly. The incredible part is, that out of the thousands
affected, hardly a thousand died in the trenches, and of the 1,300
to 1,500 brought to Warsaw, only 2 per cent. have died to date. It
is probably true that the Russian moujik soldier is the hardiest
individual in Europe; add to this the consideration that for ten months
none of them have been touching alcohol, which is probably one reason
for their astonishing vitality in fighting this deadly poison and
struggling back to life.

[Illustration: Respirator drill in the trenches.]

[Illustration: Austrians leaving Przemysl.]

After the victims are washed, every effort is made to relieve the
congestion. Mustard plasters are applied to the feet, while camphor
injections are given hypodermically, and caffeine or, in desperate
cases, digitalis is given to help the heart keep up its task against
the heavy odds. Next blood is drawn from the patient and quantities of
salt and water injected in the veins to take its place and to dilute
what remains. In the severer cases I am told that the blood even from
the arteries barely flows, and comes out a deep purple and almost as
viscous as molasses. In the far-gone cases it refuses to flow at all.

The victims that die quickly are spared the worst effects, but those
that linger on and finally succumb suffer a torture which the days of
the Inquisition can hardly parallel. Many of them have in their efforts
to breathe swallowed quantities of the gas, and in these cases, which
seem to be common, post-mortems disclose the fact that great patches
in their stomachs and in their intestines have been eaten almost raw
by the action of the acid in the gas. These men then die not only of
strangulation, which, in itself, is a slow torture, but in their last
moments their internal organs are slowly being eaten away by the acids
which they have taken into their stomachs. Several of the doctors have
told me that in these instances the men go violently mad from sheer
agony, and that many of them must be held in their beds by force to
prevent them from leaping out of the windows or running amok in the
hospitals. It is hard to still them with sufficient morphine to deaden
the pain without giving an overdose, with the result that many of the
poor fellows probably suffer until their last gasp.

This then is the physical effect which is produced on the victims of
Germany’s latest device to win the war. I have been in many of the
hospitals, and I have never in my life been more deeply moved than by
the pathetic spectacle of these magnificent specimens of manhood lying
on their beds writhing in pain or gasping for breath, each struggle
being a torture. The Russians endure suffering with a stoicism that is
heartbreaking to observe, and I think it would surely touch even the
most cynical German chemist were he to see his victims, purple in the
face, lips frothed with red from bleeding lungs, with head thrown back
and teeth clenched to keep back the groans of anguish, as they struggle
against the subtle poison that has been taken into their system. One
poor fellow said to the nurse as she sat by his bed and held his hand,
“Oh, if the German Kaiser could but suffer the pain that I do he would
never inflict this torture upon us. Surely there must be a horrible
place prepared for him in the hereafter.”

The effect upon the troops at the front who have seen the sufferings
of their fellows or who have had a touch of it themselves, has been
quite extraordinary. Some of the more cynical say that the German idea
involved this suffering as a part of their campaign of frightfulness,
their belief being that it would strike panic to the hearts of all the
soldiers that beheld it and result in the utter demoralization of the
Russian Army. If this be true the German psychologists never made a
more stupid blunder, for in this single night’s work they have built up
for themselves in the heart of every Russian moujik a personal hatred
and detestation that has spread like wildfire in all parts of the army
and has made the Russian troops infinitely fiercer both in attack and
in defence than at any other period in the war. Not a soldier or
officer with whom I have talked has shown the smallest sign of fear for
the future, and all are praying for an opportunity to exact a vengeance.

Unfortunately in the next attacks in which this just fury will be in
evidence, it will be the unfortunate German soldier who must pay the
price at the point of the bayonet, while the cold-blooded wretches
who worked it all out will go scot free from the retribution which
the Russians intend to administer with cold steel and the butt end of
their muskets. In the meantime the Russians have taken steps which will
in all probability render future attacks practically innocuous. Every
soldier is receiving a respirator, a small mask soaked in some chemical
preparation and done up in an air-tight packet ready for use. The
preparation, it is believed, will keep out the fumes for at least an
hour. It is highly improbable that any such period will elapse before
the gases are dissipated by the wind; but in any event extra quantities
of the solution will be kept in the trenches to enable the soldiers to
freshen their masks if the gases are not cleared up within an hour.

In addition to this, open ditches will be dug in the trenches and
filled with water, which will promptly suck up the gas that would
otherwise linger on indefinitely. It is also proposed to strew straw
in front of the positions and to sprinkle it with water before an
attack with the gases in order to take up as much of the poison as
possible before it reaches the trenches at all. When one remembers
that though the first attack came without any preparations being made
to meet it, and was an absolutely new experience to the Russians, it
yet failed overwhelmingly, I think one need feel no anxiety as to the
results which will follow the next attack when every preparation has
been made by the Russians to receive it.

I have dwelt at some length on the subject of the poisoned gases,
but as there is available evidence to indicate that the Germans are
planning to make this an important feature of their campaign, it seems
worth while to bring before the attention of the outside world all of
the consequences which the use of this practice involve. I hear now
from excellent sources that the Germans are equipping a large plant at
Plonsk for the express purpose of making poison gases on a large scale.
In what I have written before I have only mentioned the bearing of the
gas on strictly military operations, but there is another consideration
to be noticed in this new practice, and that is the effect which it
has, and will have increasingly, upon the unfortunate peasant and
civil population whose miserable fate it is to live behind the lines.

I am not aware of the nature and potency of the gas used in the West,
but I read recently in the paper that it was so deadly that its effects
were observable a full mile from the line of battle. Over here they
were noticeable 25 miles from the line, and individuals were overcome
as far away as 14 versts from the positions. The General commanding the
-- Siberian Corps told me that the sentry before his gate fell to the
ground from inhaling the poisoned air, though his head-quarters is more
than 10 miles away from the point where the Germans turned loose their
fiendish invention. The General commanding the --th Division of this
same Siberian Corps, against whom the attack was made, told me that
the gases reached his head-quarters exactly 1½ hours after it passed
the positions which he told me were between 5 and 6 versts from the
house in which he lived. In the morning the fumes lay like a mist on
the grass, and later in the day they were felt with sufficient potency
to cause nausea and headaches at Grodisk, 30 versts from the trenches.
Everywhere I was told of the suffering and panic among the peasants,
who came staggering in from every direction to the Russian Red Cross
stations and head-quarters. These, of course, were not as severely
stricken as the troops in the front lines, and as far as I know none
of them have died, but hundreds were being cared for by the Russian
authorities, and among these I am told were many women and children.

[Illustration: Siberians returning from the trenches.]

In fact it is but logical to expect the greatest suffering in the
future to be among children, for the gas hangs very low, and where a
six foot man might keep his nose clear of the fumes, a child of two or
three years old would be almost sure to perish. The live stock suffered
more or less, but there seems to have been a great difference in the
effects of the gases upon different kinds of animals. Horses were
driven almost frantic, cows felt it much less, and pigs are said not to
have been bothered appreciably. In its effects on plants and flowers
one notices a great range of results among different varieties. Pansies
were slightly wilted, snapdragons absolutely, while certain little blue
flowers whose name I do not know were scarcely affected at all. Some
of the tips of the grasses were coloured brown, while leaves on some
trees were completely destitute of any colour at all. I cannot explain
the varying effects. I have in my pocket a leaf two-thirds of which is
as white as a piece of writing paper while the remaining third is as
green as grass. On the same tree some leaves were killed and others not
affected at all. The effects also vary greatly in different parts of
the country. From what I could observe the gas had flowed to all the
low places where it hung for hours. In the woods it is said to have
drifted about with bad effects that lasted for several days.

What I have described above is the first effect on the country, but if
the Germans are to continue this practice for the rest of the summer I
think there must be effects which in the end will result in far more
injury to the peasants who are not prepared, than to the soldiers
who are taught how to combat the gases. In the first place it seems
extremely probable that this gas flowing to the low places will almost
invariably settle in the lakes, marshes and all bodies of still water
within 20 to 30 versts of the line. I am not sufficiently well grounded
in chemistry to speak authoritatively, but it seems not improbable that
the effect of this will be gradually to transform every small body of
water in this vicinity into a diluted solution of hydrochloric acid, a
solution which will become more and more concentrated with every wave
of gas that passes over the country-side. If this be the case Poland
may perhaps see huge numbers of its horses, cows and other live stock
slowly poisoned by chloral while the inhabitants may experience a
similar fate. With wet weather and moist soil will come a period when
the chloral will go into the earth in large quantities. I do not know
what effect this will have on the future of the crops, but I imagine
that it will not help the harvest this year, while its deleterious
effects may extend over many to come. In other words it seems as though
the Germans in order to inflict a possible military damage on the
Russians are planning a campaign, the terrible effects of which will
fall for the most part not on the soldiers at all but on the harmless
non-combatants who live in the rear of the lines. This practice is as
absolutely unjustifiable as that of setting floating mines loose at sea
on the possible chance of sinking an enemy ship, the probability being
ten to one that the victim will prove an innocent one.

We are now facing over here, and I suppose in the West as well, a
campaign of poisoned air, the effect of which upon the military
situation will be neutralized by reprisals; but at the same time this
campaign is going to increase the suffering and misery of the soldiers
a hundred per cent., and in its ultimate results bring more misery to
the populations in the various regions near the lines than has ever
been experienced in any previous war. It must be reasonably clear to
the Germans by now that their scheme to terrorize has failed, and
that their aim of inflicting vast damage has fallen to the ground.
When reprisals come, as they must if Germany continues this inhuman
policy, she will, without having gained anything whatsoever from
her experiment, cause needlessly the deaths of thousands of her
own soldiers, as well as suffering and devastation among the rural
classes. It does seem as though, when the German policy is so clearly
unfruitful, it should be possible through the medium of some neutral
country to reach an agreement providing for the entire discontinuance
on all fronts of this horrible practice. Certainly, when there are
so many thousands of innocents who must suffer by its continuance,
it would be well worth the while of the authorities in the different
countries to consider the possibility mentioned before resorting to the
use of this deadly weapon, which often proves as dangerous to the users
as to the enemy against whom it is directed.




THE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE




CHAPTER XIII

THE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE


  Dated:
  WARSAW,
  _June 9_.

Some one has said that there is nothing more monotonous than war. After
ten months of almost continuous contact with its various phenomena,
and week after week spent in the same atmosphere, where one is always
surrounded by the same types of men in the same uniforms, the same
transport, the same guns, the same Red Cross, and in fact everything
the same in general appearance, it becomes very difficult to get up
new interest in the surroundings, and that deadly monotony of even the
happenings makes it increasingly difficult to write about it. The types
of country vary here and trenches are not after one pattern, but after
one has seen a few dozen even of these there is a good deal of sameness
in it all. I have not been on the Bzura Front, however, since January,
and as little has been written about it by any one else since the big
January-February attacks on the Bolimov positions, it may be worth
devoting a short chapter to it, describing its appearance in summer.

The last time that I was out here was in January, when the ground was
deep in snow and slush, and the soldiers muffled to their ears to keep
out the biting winds that swept across the country. Now the whole army,
that is not fighting or otherwise occupied, is luxuriously basking in
the sunshine, or idling under the shade of the trees. The poisonous
gas campaigns, of which I have already written at length, having been
started on our Bzura line, seemed to justify a visit to the positions
here in order that I might speak with some degree of accuracy as to the
effects of this newest German method of warfare, from the trenches,
where the attacks were made, down through the varying stages to the
last, where one found the victims struggling for breath in the Warsaw
hospitals.

Leaving Warsaw early in the morning I went to the head-quarters of
the army immediately before Warsaw, and on explaining my desires,
every possible means of assistance was placed at my disposal including
an extra automobile and an officer interpreter. From the army
head-quarters we sped over a newly-built road to the head-quarters
of that army corps which is defending the line of the Rawka, where
the chief medical officer obligingly placed at my disposal all
the information which he possessed of the General commanding that
particular Siberian army corps on whom the experiment was first tried.
This man, an officer of high rank, was living in a small white cottage
standing by the side of a second rate country road, without a single
tree to protect it from the rays of the sun which in the afternoon was
beating down on it with a heat that could be seen as it shimmered up
from the baking earth, barren of grass or any green thing. Here was a
man, commanding perhaps 40,000 troops, living in one of the bleakest
spots I have seen in Poland, with nothing but a tiny head-quarters flag
and dozens of telephone wires running in from all directions to denote
that he was directing a command greater than a battalion.

As the greatest indignation prevails throughout the army on the
gas subject, I found the officers here very eager to help me in my
investigations, and the General immediately telephoned to the division
head-quarters that we would visit them and asked that an officer might
be provided to take us forward to the positions where the heaviest
losses occurred. So once more we took to our motor car, and for
another 6 versts, across fields and down avenues of trees, we sped
until at last we turned off sharply into the country estate of some
landed proprietor where were living the staff of the --th division.
These fortunate men were much better off than their commander, for in
a lovely villa, with a lake shimmering like a sheet of silver in the
sunlight behind the terrace on which the officers could have their
coffee in the evenings, the General and his suite lived. A delightful
little Captain, who seemed to be in charge of our programme, led us
to a window and pointing to a windmill in an adjacent field remarked:
“The German artillery reaches just to that point. From the time you
leave there until you reach the trenches you will be continually within
the range of their guns and for most of the time within plain sight of
their observers in their gun positions. However, if you insist we shall
be glad to let you go. Probably they will not fire on you, and if they
do I think they will not hit you. An automobile is a difficult target.”

With this doubtful assurance we started out again, this time heading
for regimental head-quarters, which we were told was a mile behind the
trenches. A few miles further, and we came on several battalions in
reserve near a little village. A small orchard here gave them shelter
from observation, and after their trying ordeal a few days before, they
were resting luxuriously on the grass, many of them lying flat on
their backs in the shade fast asleep while everywhere were piled their
rifles. These sturdy self-respecting Siberian troops are the cream of
the army and physically as fine specimens of manhood as I have ever
seen anywhere. From this point we turned sharply west and ran at top
speed down an avenue of trees to a little bridge, where we left the car
effectively concealed behind a clump of trees. At least that was the
intention, and one in which the chauffeur and his orderly companion
took great interest as one could see by the careful scrutiny that they
gave the landscape and then their cover.

Personally I think this is the meanest country to get about in during
the day time that I can possibly imagine. It is almost as flat as
a billiard table, and I am of the opinion that if you lay down in
the road you could see a black pin sticking up in it a mile away.
Everything around you is as still as death for perhaps ten minutes. The
sun shines, butterflies flit about and an occasional bee goes droning
past. There is nothing whatever to suggest the possibility of war.
You think it is a mistake and that you are at least twenty miles from
the Front; then you hear a deep detonation not far away and a great
smoking crater in a field near by indicates where a heavy shell has
burst. Again there is absolute silence for perhaps twenty minutes,
when a sharp report not far away causes you to look quickly toward
a grove of trees in a neighbouring field where you discover one of
the Russian batteries. Leaving our motor we walk across a field and
approach the site of a destroyed village, if a cluster of six or eight
little cottages could ever have been dignified by that name. Now only
a chimney here, or a few walls there, indicates where once stood this
little group of homes. In one of the ruins, like a dog in an ash-heap,
lives the Colonel of the --th Siberian with his staff. Behind a wall
left standing is a table and a few chairs, and dug out of the corner is
a bomb proof where converge telephones from the trenches in which are
his troops. Here he has been living since the middle of last January.

The village was destroyed months and months ago, and clearly as it is
in the line of German observation it seems to provide a comparatively
safe retreat for the officers, though as one of them remarked quite
casually, “They dropped thirty-five shells round us yesterday, but you
see nothing much came of it.” Absolute indifference to these situations
is the keynote at the Front, and good form makes one refrain from
asking the numerous questions as to the exact location of the enemy,
whether or not they can see us, and other subjects which, at the
moment, seem to us of first-class importance. However, we realize that
good taste requires that we assume the same casual attitude, and so we
sit for half an hour, smoke cigarettes and quietly hope that the enemy
will choose some other target than this for their afternoon practice
which, as one of the officers remarked, “Usually begins about this hour
in the afternoon.”

Personally I hate poking around in the broad daylight in this flat
country, but as I wanted to see the position where the gas was used
and did not want to wait until night, and as the Colonel was perfectly
agreeable, I suggested that we should proceed forthwith to the
positions. Before starting we were told that up to a few weeks ago no
one ever used the road in the daytime, because of its exposure to rifle
and artillery fire. “But now,” as the Colonel said, “for some reason or
other they are not shooting at individuals. Probably they are saving
their ammunition for Galicia. So if we walk apart we shall not be in
much danger. Anyway a man or two would be hard to hit with rifle fire,
and their artillery is rather poor here, and even if they fire at us I
think we shall not be killed.” We thanked him for his optimism and all
started off down the road that led to the positions. In view of his
suggestion about individuals being safe, I was not particularly happy
when five officers who had nothing else to do joined us. The first half
mile of the road led down an avenue of trees which effectively screened
us. After that the trees stopped and the great white road, elevated
about 5 feet above the surrounding country, impressed me as being the
most conspicuous topographical feature that I had seen in Poland. There
was not a bit of brush as big as a tooth-pick to conceal our party
walking serenely down the highway.

After we had got about 200 yards on this causeway the Colonel stopped
and pointed with his stick at a group of red brick buildings. “The
Germans were there,” translated the interpreter. “My,” I ejaculated
in enthusiasm at the idea that they had gone, “when did we retake the
position?” “Oh,” replied the interpreter officer, “not yet. They are
still there.” “Ah!” I said, lighting a cigarette, that my interest
might not seem too acute, “I should think they could see us.” The
linguist spoke a few words to the Colonel and then replied, “Oh, yes,
every move we make, but the Colonel thinks they will not shoot.” I
looked over at the brick buildings, behind which were the German
artillery positions, and I could swear they were not 2,000 yards away,
while a line of dirt nearer still showed the infantry trenches. For
myself I felt as large as an elephant, and to my eyes our party seemed
as conspicuous as Barnum’s circus on parade. However we continued our
afternoon stroll to the reserve trenches, where a soldier or two joined
our group. Five or six hundred yards up the road was the barricade
thrown across, held by the first line. An occasional crack of a rifle
reminded us that the look-outs in our trenches were studying the
movements in the German trenches a few hundred yards beyond. Finally
we left the road and came over a field and into the rear of our own
position, and to the scene of the German gas attacks four or five days
before.

Life in the trenches has become such an everyday affair to these
sunburned, brawny soldiers from Siberia that they seem to have no more
feeling of anxiety than if they were living in their own villages far,
far to the East. In spite of the fact that they have steadily borne the
brunt of terrible attacks, and even now are under the shadow of the
opposing lines, which are thoroughly equipped with the mechanism for
dispensing poisoned air, they are as gay and cheerful as schoolboys on
a vacation. I have never seen such healthy, high-spirited soldiers in
my life. The trenches have been so cleaned up that a house wife could
find no fault with them.

These homes of the soldiers have every appearance of being swept daily.
The apprehension felt in the winter of hygienic conditions when the
spring came have no ground whatever, and I am told on the very highest
authority that in this army the sickness, other than that coming from
wounds, is less than for the months that preceded the war itself. The
Colonel explained to us the use of the respirators with which every
soldier is provided, and for our benefit had one of the soldiers fitted
with one that he might be photographed to illustrate for the West what
sort of protection is being supplied to the men on this side. After
spending half to three-quarters of an hour wandering about in the
trenches and meeting the officers who live there we returned to the
regimental head-quarters. The sun was just setting, and as we strolled
back over the open causeway in its last red glow a great German battery
suddenly came into action somewhere off to the west and north of us,
and we could hear the heavy detonations of its huge shells falling in a
nearby wood.

When we got back to the regimental head-quarters I could see their
target, which seemed to be nothing more than a big field. Every few
minutes an enormous shell would drop in the meadow. For an instant
there would be but a little dust where it hit the ground, then suddenly
a great spout of earth and dust and volumes of dirty brown smoke would
leap into the air like the eruption of a volcano, and then the heavy
sound of the explosion would reach our ears, while for two or three
minutes the crater would smoke as though the earth itself were being
consumed by hidden fires. As it was coming late we did not linger long
at the head-quarters but took to our car and sped up the avenue of
trees which lay directly parallel to the point where the shells were
bursting. The sun had set now, and in the after glow we passed once
more the camps of the reserves squatting about their little twinkling
fires built in the earth to mask them from the sight of the enemy. In
half an hour we were back once more in the villa of the General of
the division, an enormous man of six feet three, whose cross of St.
George of the first class was given for a heroic record in Manchuria
where the General, then a Colonel, was three times wounded by Japanese
bullets. Sitting on his terrace he gave us more details in regard to
the usages of the gas against his troops. Though they were 6 versts
from the Front, everyone in his head-quarters had been affected with
nausea and headaches, so potent were the fumes of the chloral that
for hours lay like a miasmic mist in the grounds and garden of the
estate. The General, who is a very kindly giant, shook his head sadly
as he spoke of the Germans. I think the Russians are a very charitable
people and nearly all the men with whom I have talked lay the blame of
this outrage on civilization against the authorities and not against
the men, who, they understand, are bitterly opposed to its use. When I
asked the General what he thought of the German point of view of war,
he sat for a few moments looking out over the lovely garden with the
little lake that lay before us.

“They have an extraordinary point of view,” he said at last. Then he
rose quickly from his chair and brought from a corner of the balcony
a belt captured in some skirmish of the morning. He held it up for me
to see the big buckle and with his finger pointed to the words: “GOTT
MIT UNS.” Then with a smile more significant than words he tossed
it back into the corner. Yes, truly, the German point of view is an
extraordinary one.




THE GALICIAN FRONT




CHAPTER XIV

THE GALICIAN FRONT


  Dated:
  ROVNA,
  _June 26, 1915_.

In a few weeks a year will have passed since the Imperial German
Government began issuing its series of declarations of war against one
country after another--declarations which as time elapses are assuming
the aspect of hostilities not only against individual countries, but
against practically all that modern civilization had come to represent.
During that time each of the Allies, and all of the world besides, have
been studying the geography of Europe and the armies engaged in the
great conflict. Of all these countries and of all these armies, I think
that the least known and the least understood are the country and the
army of Russia.

It has been my fortune to be with the Russians since last September,
during which time I have travelled thousands of versts both in
Poland and in Galicia. I have visited eight out of their eleven
active armies, and been on the positions in most of them, and it is
not an exaggeration to say that I have met and talked with between
five hundred and a thousand officers. Yet I feel that I am only now
beginning to realize what this war means to Russia, and the temper that
it has slowly but surely developed in her armies and in her peoples.
Never I think have the stamina and the temper of a country been more
fiercely tested than have those of Russia during the campaign which
has been going on in Galicia since May last. All the world realizes
in a general way what the Russians had to contend with, and all the
world knows vaguely that Russia has a front of 1,200 versts to protect,
and appreciates in an indefinite kind of way that such a line must
be difficult to hold. But though I have been here for eleven months,
I never formed any adequate conception of how great was this problem
until I undertook to cover the Front, from its far fringe in Bukovina
to its centre on the Warsaw Front.

During the past two months it has been all but impossible to follow
movements with any clear understanding of their significance. We
have all known that the Russians were retiring from position after
position before overwhelming attacks of the enemy; and with very few
exceptions, the world has concluded, and the enemy certainly has,
that flying before the phalanx of the Austro-German legions with their
thousands of massed guns, fed with clockwork regularity with munitions
and supplies brought up by their superb railway systems, was the
wrecked and defeated Russian Army, an organization that it would take
months of rest and recuperation to lick into the shape of a virile
fighting force once more. I have never shared this opinion myself, for
we who were in Manchuria ten years ago learned to know that though it
was quite possible to drive the Russians off the field, it was equally
impossible to destroy their _moral_ or break their spirits. A month
after Lio Yang the supposedly defeated Russians took the offensive
at Sha Ho and came a cropper. Again in January another offensive was
developed and failed. They were ready once more at Moukden and lost
badly. By September had peace not intervened they would have fought
again. Even the Japanese were beginning to feel the discouragement of
the Russian persistency in refusing to accept defeat as final. The
Manchurian campaign was unpopular, not in the least understood, and yet
the Russian moujik hung on and on month after month. The Japanese knew
their mettle and admitted it freely.

For a year now we have had the Russians again at war. But this time
the situation is quite different. The war touched the slow lethargic
rather negative Russian temperament from the start, by its appeal to
their race sympathies, which is the one vital chord that can always
be touched with a certainty of response, in the heart of every Slav.
From the first month, the popularity of the war has grown steadily,
until to-day it has the backing of the entire Russian people, barring
isolated groups of intriguers and cliques controlled and influenced
by German blood. I have talked with officers from every part of this
Empire, and they all tell me that it is the same in Siberia as it is
in European Russia. The moujik in his heavy, ponderous way is behind
this war. No matter what pessimism one hears in Petrograd or Warsaw,
one can always find consolation as to the ultimate outcome by going to
the common people, those who patiently and stoically are bearing the
burden. This is the strength of Russia and this is why Russia and the
Russian Armies are not beaten in Galicia, are not discouraged and have
not the vaguest idea of a peace without a decision any more than the
Englishman, the Frenchman or the Belgian.

In so vast a theatre as this, it is utterly impossible to form clear
and definite opinions as to what has taken place even in the past
year, and it may be imagined with what difficulty one can predict
the future. But there is one thing in war that is greater than an
advance or a retreat, greater than a dozen battles, and greater than
the speculations of experts, and that thing is the temper and stamina
of the men and the people who are fighting the war. Given that and one
can look with comparative equanimity upon the ups and downs of the vast
tactical and strategical problems which develop now in East Prussia,
now in Poland and again in Galicia. There was one great strategic aim
of the Germans in their Galician movement, and that was to crush the
Russian Army, hand back to Austria her lost province, and then hurry
back to the west to attack England and France. It is true that Germany
has driven the Russians from position after position; it is true that
she has given back Lwow to the unenthusiastic Austrians, who with
trembling hands accepted it back as a dangerous gift, and it is true
that the world looks upon the recapture of Galicia as a great moral
blow to the Russian arms. Thus far has Germany achieved her ends. But
she has not destroyed the army, she has not discouraged the troops,
and with the exception of one army, now repaired, she did not even
seriously cripple it.

The plain facts are, that by a preponderance of war munitions which
Russia could not equal, supplied over lines of communication which
Russia could not duplicate, Germany forced Russian withdrawals before
her, for men cannot fight modern battles with their fists. The glory of
the German advance will be dimmed when the world really knows exactly
what Russia had in men and in arms and munitions to meet this assault,
the greatest perhaps that has ever been made in military history.
Indeed the surprise of the writer is not that the Germans won but that
they did not crush the army before them. This retreat from the Dunajec
will form a brilliant page in Russia’s history, and an object lesson to
the whole world of what a stubborn army composed of courageous hearts
can do by almost sheer bravery alone. The Russians have come through
their trial by fire. Barring one army they have probably suffered
far less in personnel than the loss they have inflicted on their
enemy. They have reached, or approximately reached, another point of
defence. Their spirits are good, their confidence unshaken, and their
determination to fight on indefinitely, regardless of defeats, is
greater than it ever was before.

The Germans have failed in their greatest aim--as the case stands
to-day. One cannot doubt that the high authorities in Berlin must
realize this truth as surely as the military brains do on this side
of the line. The Germans have shot their first bolt, a bolt forged
from every resource in men and munitions that they could muster after
months of preparation. The Russians have recoiled before it and may
recoil again and again, but they always manage to prevent it from
accomplishing its aim. At the moment of writing Germany faces the
identical problem that she did two months ago, excepting that she now
occupies extra territory, for the most part in ruins. The problem
before her is to repeat the Galician enterprise on an army infinitely
better than the one she broke in May. If she can do this she will
have the identical problem to meet on some other line in another two
months, and after that another and another. It is simply a question of
how much time, men and resources Germany has to spend on these costly
victories, if indeed the next proves a victory, which is doubtful. She
may do it once, she may do it twice, but whenever it may be there will
come a time when she can do it no more, and when that time comes Russia
will slowly, surely, inexorably come back, step by step, until she has
regained her own, her early conquests, and has Germany on her knees in
the East. It is futile to speculate as to time. It may be months and it
may be years. But it is most surely coming eventually.




THE GERMAN DRIVE IN GALICIA




CHAPTER XV

THE GERMAN DRIVE IN GALICIA


  Dated:
  ROVNA,
  _June 26, 1915_.

It is utterly impossible at this time to give anything like an accurate
story of the past two months in Galicia. It will be years before the
information necessary for definite history can be accumulated from the
various units engaged. Even then there will be gaps and inaccuracies
because hundreds of the men engaged have been killed, and so few even
of the Generals know more than their own side of the case, that the
difficulties of the historian will be enormous.

I shall not attempt then, in this brief chapter, anything but to trace
the merest outline of the causes and effects of the German drive in
Galicia.

It has been apparent to all of us here from the start of the war
that Warsaw was becoming increasingly the German objective. Attempts
from the north and on the centre failed absolutely, the latter both
in October and in January-February, and the former in September
and in March. The fall of Przemysl and the Russian advance in the
Carpathians, with the even greater menace to the Hungarian plain by
the army operating in Bukovina, was threatening Austria with absolute
collapse. The extreme eastern army with its drives further and further
toward Hungary is said to have brought Hungary to the verge of openly
demanding a separate peace. All these causes, then, rendered it
necessary for Germany to do something for Austria, and by clearing out
Galicia she hoped, not only to restore to her broken ally something
of hope and spirit, but no doubt conceived the belief that by the
time she had done this, she would be sufficiently far east and south
of Warsaw to threaten it from the south and rear, and possibly cause
its abandonment without a real battle near Warsaw at all. Many people
here believe that the Germans want merely to secure and hold the line
of the Vistula and Galicia, and then concentrate all their attention
on the west. After the echoes of the fighting north of Warsaw in
February-March were dying away, it became clear to all of us here that
there would soon be another blow in some other quarter. Russia, as one
so often repeats, has this enormous line. She cannot be in strength at
every point, and though she saw for several weeks that the Germans
were concentrating on the Dunajec line in Galicia, she could not
reinforce it sufficiently to hold it without weakening other more vital
points. As a fact, under the conditions which actually developed there
she could not have held it, nor I think could any other army.

The world’s history records nothing that has even approximated to
this German drive which fell on one Russian Army, the bulk of which
remained at its post and perished. The total number of German army
corps sent down to do this job is uncertain. I have heard from many
in high authority estimates differing so widely that I can supply no
statement as absolutely correct. Perhaps sixteen is not far from the
actual number, though probably reinforcements and extra divisions sent
in pretty steadily to fill losses, brought up the total to a larger
number than the full strength of sixteen corps. However the details
at this time are immaterial. The main point is that the Russians were
entirely outnumbered in men, guns and ammunition. The statements about
the German massed guns also vary as widely as from 2,000 to 4,000.
Certainly they had not less than 200 guns equal to or exceeding 8-inch
types. These were concentrated on the front which was held by three or
four corps of the devoted Dunajec army.

Men who know have told me that what followed was indescribable. I have
not heard that there was any panic, or attempt to retreat on the part
of the troops. In characteristic Russian fashion they remained and took
their gruelling. For whole versts behind the line, I am told that the
terrain was a hash of earth, mangled bodies, and fragments of exploded
shell. If the statement that the Germans fired 700,000 shells in three
hours is true, and it is accepted in the Russian Army, one can readily
realize what must have been the condition of the army occupying that
line of works. Much criticism has been brought against the General
commanding because he had no well-prepared second line of trenches. No
doubt he ought to have had it, but it would have made little difference
beyond delaying the advance a few days. The German machine had been
preparing for two months, and everything was running as smooth as a
well-oiled engine, with troops, munitions and supplies being fed in
with precision and regularity.

Russia is not an industrial nation, and cannot turn her resources into
war material overnight as the Germans have been able to do. She was
outclassed in everything except bravery, and neither the Germans nor
any other army can claim superiority to her in that respect. With the
centre literally cut away, the keystone of the Russian line had been
pulled out, and nothing remained but to retire. In this retirement five
Russian Armies were involved. Beginning on the right was that of Evert
lying entirely in Poland on the Nida river. His army has been usually
successful and always full of fight, and its retirement was purely that
it might keep symmetrical with the Russian line as a whole. I have
written in an earlier chapter of Evert’s retreat, of how in falling
back on to his new line he accounted for between 20,000 and 30,000 of
the German and Austrian troops. Of this it is unnecessary to say more
at present, save that his army is in a good position and stronger and
more spirited than ever.

[Illustration: General Brussilov.]

The unfortunate army of the Dunajec, whose commander and number are
as well known in England as here, began then to fall back with what
there was left of it on the San, tearing up railroads and fighting a
rearguard action with what strength it could command. In the meantime
the army of Brussilov, which up to this time had never been defeated,
was well through the Carpathians and going strong. The crumbling of
their right neighbour left them in a terrible plight, and only skilful
and rapid manœuvring got them back out of the passes in time to get
in touch with the fragments of the retreating centre, which by the
time it reached the San had got reinforcements and some ammunition.
Brussilov’s right tried to hold Przemysl, but as the commander assured
me, there was nothing left of the fortifications. Besides, as I gather
from officers in that part of his army, further retirements of the next
army kept exposing their flank, and made it imperative for the whole
army to commence its retreat toward the Russian frontier.

I have good reason for believing that the Russian plan to retire to
their own frontier was decided on when they lost Przemysl, and that the
battles on the Grodek line, around Lwow, were merely rearguard actions.
In any case, I do know that while the fighting was still in progress
on the San, and just as Przemysl was taken, work was commenced on a
permanent line of defence south of Lublin and Cholm, the line in fact
which is at this moment being held by the Russians. My belief, then,
is that everything that took place between the San and the present
line must be considered inevitable in the higher interests of Russian
strategy. The interim between leaving the San and taking up what is
now approximately the line on which they will probably make a definite
stand, will make a very fine page in Russian history. I cannot at this
time go into any details, but the Allies will open their eyes when
they know exactly how little the Russians had in the way of ammunition
to hold off this mass of Germans and Austrians whose supply of shell
poured in steadily week after week.

Next to the army of Brussilov is that army which had been assaulting
and making excellent headway in the Eastern Carpathians. They, too,
were attacked with terrible energy, but taken independently could
probably have held on indefinitely. As it was they never moved until
the retirement of all the other armies west of them rendered their
position untenable. The German and Austrian communiques have constantly
discussed the defeat of this army. The world can judge whether it
was demoralized when it learns that in six weeks, from Stryj to the
Zota Lipa, it captured 53,000 prisoners. During this same period, the
army of Bukovina in the far left was actually advancing, and only
came back to preserve the symmetry of the whole line. The problem of
falling back over this extremely long front with five great armies,
after the centre was completely broken, was as difficult an one as
could well be presented. In the face of an alert enemy there were here
and there local disasters and bags of Russian prisoners, but with all
their skill, and with all their railroads, and superiority in both men
and ammunition, the Germans and the Austrians have not been able to
destroy the Russian force, which stands before them to-day on a new and
stronger line. The further the Russians have retired, the slower has
been their retreat and the more difficult has it been for the enemy
to follow up their strokes with anything like the same strength and
energy. In other words the Russians are pretty nearly beyond the reach
of enemy blows which can hurt them fatally.

The Austrians have followed up the Eastern armies and claim enormous
victories, but it must be pretty clear now, even to the Austrians and
Germans, that these victories, which are costing them twice what they
are costing the Russians, are merely rearguard actions. In any case
the Austrian enthusiasm is rapidly ebbing away. After two months of
fighting the Germans have finally swung their main strength back toward
the line of Cholm-Lublin, with the probable intent of finishing up
the movement by threatening Warsaw and thus closing up successfully
the whole Galician campaign, which as many believe, had this end in
view. But now they find a recuperated and much stronger Russian Army
complacently awaiting them on a selected position which is in every way
the best they have ever had.

As I write there is still much doubt as to whether the Germans will try
and go further ahead here, for it is pretty clear that they are checked
at this point, and that the Galician movement has reached its low-water
mark as far as the Russians are concerned. The next blow will no
doubt fall either north of Warsaw or possibly on the much-battered
Bzura-Rawka Front itself, which for so many months has stood the wear
and tear of many frantic efforts to break through.




THE FRONT OF IVANOV




CHAPTER XVI

THE FRONT OF IVANOV


  Dated:
  GALICIAN FRONTIER,
  _June 28, 1915_.

In Russia it is not a simple matter to change one’s “front.” For many
months I have been associated with the group of armies over which
Alexieff presides, where I have been able to move about from army to
army with the utmost freedom. When I decided to change my base to
the head-quarters of Ivanov and the front of Galicia I found myself
surrounded by difficulties. For more than a month now, one could enter
Warsaw without a permit or travel on the roads or pass to and from any
of the towns in the area of war. I applied to my army friends in Warsaw
and they, by permission of General Alexieff, kindly lent me a young
officer whose duty it was to deliver me into the hands of the staff of
the Galician Front.

We left Warsaw in my motor, not even knowing where the staff of Ivanov
was, for at that moment it was on its way to a new destination, the
retirements from Galicia having thrown the commanding General too far
west to be conveniently in touch with his left flank armies. Stopping
at a point about 100 versts from Warsaw, we learned our destination,
and two days later motored into the quaint little Russian town not too
far from Galicia, where the presiding genius of the Eastern Campaign
had arrived that very morning with his whole staff. Here we found
Ivanov living on a special train with his head-quarters in a kind of
old museum. As the staff had just arrived, everything was still in
confusion and nothing had been done to make the room, which was as
large as a barn, comfortable. In the centre were two enormous tables
covered with maps, before which sat a rather tired-looking man with a
great full beard. He arose as we entered, and after shaking hands bade
us be seated.

[Illustration: General Ivanov.]

[Illustration: My car in a Galician village.]

General Ivanov is a man of about sixty, with a kindly gentle face and
a low and musical voice. It is impossible to imagine him ever becoming
excited or ever making a sudden movement. Everything about him suggests
calm, balance, poise and absolute self-control. As he speaks only
Russian I was obliged to talk with him entirely through an interpreter.
He has very deep blue eyes with a kindly little twinkle in them that
one suspects might easily turn to a point of fire if he were roused.
Since meeting him I have known many of his staff, and find that his
personality is just what his appearance suggests. A great-hearted,
kindly, unselfish man, he is worshipped by all whose duty it is to work
with, for and under him. It is not etiquette according to the censor
to quote anything that the General said, and I deeply regret this as I
talked with him for an hour, and after the first thirty minutes felt
as much at home as though I had known him a lifetime. His work and his
army and the success of Russia make up his entire life. He impressed me
as a big, earnest man, giving all the force of a powerful intellect to
a very big job and doing it with the simplicity that is characteristic
of all big men.

After a few commonplaces he asked me what I wanted. I told him quite
frankly that from a news point of view, Russia, and the Galician
campaign especially, was little known in the West. That the public in
the West were depressed over the Russian reverses in Galicia, and that
all of the friends of Russia wanted to know as accurately as possible
what the conditions were in his armies. He leaned back in his chair
and studied me closely for fully a minute, and then smiled a little,
and the interpreter translated to me: “The General says that you may
do what you like in his armies. He will detail an officer who speaks
English to go with you. You may visit any army, any trench, any
position or any organization that you wish, and he will give you the
written permission. He will suggest a plan which he thinks advisable,
but if you do not care for it you can make one up for yourself and he
will give his consent to any programme that you care to suggest.” The
General smiled and then bent forward over his maps, and with his pencil
pointed out to me the general arrangement of his armies, and after
some discussion advised that I should start on his extreme left flank,
the last division of which was operating in Bukovina not far from the
Roumanian frontier. We were to stop as long as we cared to, and then
visit each army in turn until we had covered all in his group, when the
officer who was to be detailed to accompany us would deliver us to the
first army next to him that belonged to the Alexieff group.

He then sent for the officer who was to be our guide, and presently
there appeared a tall, handsome young man who was introduced to us as
Prince Oblensky, a captain of the Chevalier Guards, now serving as
personal aide-de-camp to General Ivanov. From the moment that we met
him the Prince took charge of us completely, and for two weeks he was
our guide, philosopher and friend. In passing I must say that I have
never known a man of sweeter disposition and a more charming companion
than this young Captain, from whom I was not separated for above an
hour or two at a time in fourteen days. The Prince took me around and
introduced me to a number of the staff, and all of them talked freely
and with very little reserve about the whole situation.

The point of view that I found at Ivanov’s staff was this. Russia with
her long front could not be strong everywhere at once. Her railroad
system and her industrial organization were in no way equal to the
German. Their sudden concentration was irresistible, and almost from
the start the Russians realized that they would have to go back. It
was hoped that the Germans could not maintain their ascendancy of
ammunition and strength beyond the San. Indeed, for a few days there
was something of a lull in which the Russians made gains in certain
places. Then the flow of ammunition was resumed, and from that time it
was pretty well understood that the Grodek line, and Lwow, would be
held only as rearguard actions to delay the German advance, and to take
from them the maximum loss at the minimum sacrifice. This particular
staff, in whose hands rested the conduct of the whole manœuvre, had
then the task of withdrawing these armies over this vast front in such
order and symmetry that as they retired no one should overlap the
flanks of the other, and that no loopholes should occur where an enemy
could get through. With these numerous armies, operating in all kinds
of countries with all sorts of lines of communications, falling back
before fierce assaults from an enemy superior in guns and men, the
performance of getting them safely back on to a united line where they
could once more make a united stand, must, I think, take its place in
history as one of the greatest military manœuvres that has ever been
made.

I had just come from Petrograd where the greatest gloom prevailed
in regard to the evacuation of Lwow, and I was surprised to find
that no one here attached any great importance to Lwow. One officer
of general’s rank remarked, “We do not believe in holding untenable
military positions for moral effect. Lwow is of no great value to us
from a military point of view, and the way the line developed it was
impossible to stay there without great risk. So we left. By and by we
will go back and take it again when we have more ammunition.” This was
the first time that I heard this statement, but since then I have heard
it at least a hundred times made by officers of all ranks from generals
down to subalterns. All agreed that it was disappointing to come back
after having fought so many months in taking Galicia, but I did not
find one man who was in the least depressed; and from that day to this
I have not heard in the army an expressed fear, or even a suggestion,
that there might be a possibility that Russia would not prove equal
to her task. The Russians as a race may be a bit slow in reaching
conclusions, but once they get their teeth set I think there are no
more stubborn or determined people in the world.

This retreat with all its losses and all its sacrifices has not, I
think, shaken the courage of a single soldier in the whole Russian
Army. They simply shut their teeth and pray for an opportunity to begin
all over again. All eagerly assured me that the Germans and Austrians
had lost far more than the Russians, and I was told by a high authority
that the Germans estimated their own losses in two months at 380,000
killed, wounded and missing. One man significantly put the situation,
“To judge of this movement one should see how it looks behind the
German lines. In spite of their advances and bulletins of success,
there has been great gloom behind their front. We know absolutely that
every town and even every village in Eastern Silesia is filled with
wounded, and in Breslau and Posen there is hardly a house that has
not been requisitioned for the accommodation of wounded. Since the
enemy crossed the Dunajec there has been an unbroken stream of wounded
flowing steadily back across the frontier. _This_ we do not see in the
papers printed in Germany. The Russian game is to keep on weakening the
Germans. We would rather advance, of course, but whether we advance or
retreat we are weakening the enemy day after day; sometime he will be
unable to repair his losses and then we will go on again. Do not worry.
All of this is but temporary. We are not in the least discouraged.”

Another statement which at first struck me as curious, but which I have
since come to understand, was that the morale of the Austrians has been
steadily decreasing since the capture of Przemysl and the fighting
on the San. Since visiting Ivanov I have been in six armies and have
talked in nearly all with the men who have been examining the Austrian
prisoners. Their point of view seems to be pretty much the same. And
when I say the Austrians, I mean, of course, the common soldiers and
not the authorities or the officers. The Austrian soldiers’ view is
something like this: “We have fought now for a year, and in May we had
practically lost Galicia. The end of the war, for which we have never
cared, was almost in sight. We hoped that soon there would be some kind
of peace and we could go home. We had lost Galicia, but the average
man in the Austrian Army cares little for Galicia. Just as the end
seemed in sight, the Germans, whom we don’t like any way, came down
here and dragged us along into this advance. At first we were pleased,
but we never expected the Russians to hold out so long. Finally the
Germans have given us back Lwow, and now little by little they are
beginning to go away. It is only a question of time when they will all
be gone either to France or against some other Russian front. Then the
Russians will come back. Our officers will make us defend Lwow. They
will make us defend the Grodek line, Przemysl and the Carpathians. The
Russians are united. We are not. They will beat us as they did before.
In the end we will be just where we were in May. It is all an extra
fight, with more losses, more suffering and more misery. We owe it all
to the Germans. We do not like it and we are not interested.”

I think this point of view is more or less typical, and it accounts in
a large measure for the fact that even though they are advancing the
Austrians are still surrendering in enormous blocks whenever they get
the chance of doing so without being caught in the act by their Allies.

For the most part the men that I talked with here thought that the
army had retired about as far as it would for the present. But one
feels constant surprise at the stoicism of the Russian, who does not
apparently feel the smallest concern at withdrawals, for, as they say,
“If they keep coming on into Russia it will be as it was with Napoleon.
They can never beat us in the long run, and the further they force us
back the worse for them. Look at Moscow,” and they smile and offer you
a cigarette. I have never in my life seen people who apparently have
a more sublime confidence in their cause and in themselves than the
Russians. Their confidence does not lie in their military technique,
for I think all admit that in that the Germans are their superiors.
It lies in their own confidence, in the stamina and character of the
Russian people, who, when once aroused are as slow to leave off a fight
as they are to begin it.

Throughout Russia to-day the strength of the war idea is growing
daily. Every reverse, every withdrawal and every rumour of defeat
only stiffens the determination to fight harder and longer. Time is
their great ally they say, for Germany cannot, they are certain, fight
indefinitely, while they believe that they can.

These opinions are not my own but the opinions of Russians. These men
may be unduly enthusiastic about their countrymen, but what they say I
have since heard all over the army at the Front; whether they are right
or wrong they may certainly be taken as typical of the natural view.

When I left Petrograd I was not cheerful as to the outlook in Galicia.
When I left Ivanov’s head-quarters I felt more optimistic than I had
been in six weeks.




HUNTING FOR THE ARMY OF THE BUKOVINA




CHAPTER XVII

HUNTING FOR THE ARMY OF THE BUKOVINA


  Dated:
  TLUST, GALICIA,
  _June 30, 1915_.

The town where General Ivanov lives is in Russia proper, and one may
realize the scope of the military operations when one learns that
the head-quarters of the army of his left flank is nearly 200 versts
from the commander, while the furthest outpost of that army itself is
perhaps 150 or 200 versts further still, which means that the directing
genius is not far from 400 versts from his most distant line. After
leaving the head-quarters we motored for 40 or 50 versts along the main
line of communications of the whole group of armies, passing the usual
endless train of transport and troops moving slowly forward to fill the
ranks and replenish the supplies of the vast force that lies spread out
ahead of us. For eleven months now, first in one part of Russia and
then in another, I have been passing on the roads these endless chains
of transport. Truly one begins to get the idea that there is nothing
in the world nowadays but soldiers, guns, caissons and transport. One
wonders where on earth it has all been kept in the days before August,
a year ago, when a dozen transport carts or a battery of artillery was
a sufficient novelty on the road to cause one to turn and look at it.

Forty versts from the head-quarters, we turn from the main road and
strike off to the east and south toward Tarnopol, which though not
the head-quarters of an army (if it were I could not mention it) is
not too far away from the same. The road we follow is an excellent
one as far as Kremenetz, a wonderfully picturesque little town tucked
away in the hills, not far from the Russian-Galician frontier. Its
quaint streets are now filled with the inevitable paraphernalia of
war. From here by a road of lesser merit, we wind up a narrow road to
one of the most picturesque spots I have ever seen, called Pochaief.
This is the last town on the Russian side of the frontier. Here is a
monastery a thousand years old, a Mecca to which come thousands of
the devout peasantry from all over the Empire. The building itself
is one of the greatest piles in Europe, and on its hill towers above
the surrounding country so that it is visible for 20 versts with its
golden dome shining in the summer sun. We reached the place late in
the afternoon and learned that all the regular roads stopped here as
it has apparently not been considered policy by either the Russian or
Austrian Governments to have easy highways across the frontier. At this
point we were perhaps 12 versts from the nearest good road in Galicia,
a very trifling distance for a car that has been doing 70 or 80 versts
an hour. The head of the police in Pochaief kindly lent us a gendarme,
who assured us that we could get across the 12 intervening versts in
an hour. So with this placid-faced guide we started about nine in the
evening. This amiable gendarme, who had more goodwill than brains, in
half an hour had led us into a country of bluffs, forests, bridle paths
and worse that defy description. I neglected to say that General Ivanov
had kindly given us an extra motor to carry our baggage, and extra
chauffeurs, etc. The moon was just rising and we were digging ourselves
out of difficulties for the tenth time when our guide announced
that the road was now a perfectly clear and good one, and saluting
respectfully left us in the wood with our cars groaning and panting
and staggering over bumps and ditches until one came to have the most
intense admiration for the gentlemen that design motor-cars. It is a
mystery to me how they ever stand the misery that they have to undergo.

By midnight we were sitting out on a ridge of hills stuck fast in a
field with our engines racing, and the mud flying and the whole party
pushing and sweating and swearing. No doubt our guide had foreseen this
very spot and had had the discretion to withdraw before we reached it.
This was the exact frontier, and with its rolling hills and forests
stretching before us in the quiet moonlight it was very beautiful. Our
Prince, who never gets discouraged or ruffled, admired the scenery and
smoked a cigarette, and we all wished for just one moment of our guide,
for whom we had sundry little pleasantries prepared. While we were
still panting and gasping, a figure on horseback came over the hill and
cautiously approached us. He proved to be a policeman from the Galician
side who had come out as the Prince told us because he had heard our
engines and thought that a German aeroplane “had sat down on the hill”
and he had come out to capture it. He was slightly disappointed at his
mistake, but guided us back to the village whence he had come. Near
here we found a beautiful Austrian estate, where we woke up the keeper
and made him give us “my lady’s” bed chamber for the night, which he
did grudgingly.

Our troubles were now over, for after one breakdown in the morning we
were on a good highway which ran _viâ_ Potkaimen down to Tarnopol.
At Potkaimen we were again on the line of travel, with the line of
creaking transport and jangling guns and caissons. I have never passed
through a more beautiful or picturesque country in my life, and wonder
why tourists do not come this way. Apparently until the war these
villages were as much off the beaten path as though they were in the
heart of Africa. Rolling hills, forests, with silvery lakes dotting the
valleys, extend for miles with wonderful little streams watering each
small water-shed between the ridges. The roads are fine, and the last
60 versts into Tarnopol we made in record time. A few miles from the
city we began to pass an endless line of carts bearing all sorts and
descriptions of copper. It was evident that many distilleries and other
plants had been hurriedly dismantled, and everything in them containing
copper shipped away less it fall into the hands of the copper-hungry
enemy.

Here, too, we passed long lines of the carts of the Galician peasantry
fleeing from the fear of the German invasion. It strikes one as
extraordinary that these inhabitants, many of whose husbands, brothers
and fathers are fighting in the Austrian Armies, should take refuge
in flight at the rumour of their approach. It is a sad commentary on
the reputation of the Germans that even the peoples of their Allies
flee at the report of their approach. The name of Prussian down here
seems to carry as much terror to the Galician peasant as ever it did
to the Belgians or the Poles in other theatres of war. The peasantry
are moving out bag and baggage with all the pathos and misery which
the abandonment of their homes and lifelong treasures spells to these
simple folk. Even ten months’ association with similar scenes does not
harden one to the pitifulness of it all. Little children clinging to
their toys, mothers, haggard and frightened, nursing babes at their
breasts, and fathers and sons urging on the patient, weary, family
horse as he tugs despairingly at the overloaded cart weighted down with
the pathetic odds and ends of the former home.

Tarnopol itself was a great surprise to me. It is a typical Austrian
town with a lovely park in the centre and three hotels which are nearly
first class. Paved streets, imposing public buildings and a very fine
station, besides hundreds of lovely dwelling houses, make a very
beautiful little town; and with its setting in the valley, Tarnopol
seems an altogether desirable place. Here as elsewhere troops are
seething. The station is a military restaurant and emergency hospital
combined. One of the waiting-rooms has been turned into an operating
and dressing-room, and when there is fighting on at the front the
whole place is congested with stretchers and the atmosphere reeks of
disinfectants and ether fumes.

We stopped here only overnight, for we are bound to the furthest
stretch of our front to the south-east. In the evening there came
through battalion after battalion of troops swinging through the
streets, tired, dirty and battle stained, but, with it all, singing
at the top of their lungs. These men were moving from one front to
another, and most of them had been fighting for weeks. The first glance
was sufficient to make one realize that these troops were certainly not
down-hearted.

In strong contrast to the Russians was the sight of the latest haul
of prisoners which passed through the next morning--several thousand
Austrians and two or three hundred Germans.

In spite of their being caught at the hightide of their advance
movement the Austrians had the same broken-hearted expression that I
have seen in tens of thousands of Austrian prisoners for ten months. I
have now seen Austrians from every quarter of their Empire, and I must
say I have never seen a squad of prisoners who have not had the same
expression of hopelessness and resignation. These were well-clothed
and for prisoners moderately clean. The critic may say that prisoners
always look depressed and dejected, but to judge the Austrians, one
must compare them with the Germans, and it was possible to do so on
this occasion, for directly behind the troops of the Hapsburgs came
two or three hundred Germans. I have never seen such spectacles in my
life. Worn, haggard, ragged and tired they were, but in contrast to the
Austrians, they walked proudly, heads thrown back, glaring defiantly at
the curious crowds that watched them pass. Whether they are prisoners
or conquerors the German soldiers always wear the same mien of
superiority and arrogance. But the significance of this group was not
their self-respect and defiance of their captivity but their condition.
I have never in war seen men so nearly “all-in” as these prisoners.
Two in the line had no shirts, their ragged coats covering their bare,
brown breasts. Some had no hats, all were nearly in rags, the boots of
many were worn thin and many of them limped wearily. Boys of eighteen
marched by men who looked a hundred, though I suppose they were under
fifty actually. One saw a giant of 6 feet 5 inches walking by a
stripling of 5 feet 2 inches. Their faces were thin and drawn, and many
of them looked as if one might have hung hats on their cheek-bones.
These men may be wrong and they may be cruel, but one must admit
that they are object lessons in fortitude, and whatever they are they
are certainly soldiers. In wagons behind came wounded Germans, mostly
privates. Later I discovered that a number of these troops had just
come from the French front. As one said, “Arrived at noon, captured at
three.” Their explanation of their capture was that their officer lost
the way. Further examination brought forth the information that nearly
all their officers had been killed; and that the bulk of the company
officers were now either young boys or old men who knew little of maps
or military matters, which accounted for them getting lost and falling
into the Russian hands. The Austrians were captured because, as usual,
they wanted to be. The numbers of the prisoners seen here, that is
2,000 Austrians and 200 Germans, is just about the proportion in which
morale and enthusiasm in the war exists in the two armies.

Next morning having obtained the necessary permits we took our motors
and headed south for the army lying on the Dniester with its flank in
the Bukovina.




THE RUSSIAN LEFT




CHAPTER XVIII

THE RUSSIAN LEFT


  GERMANIKOWKA, GALICIA,
  _July 3, 1915_.

The army of the Bukovina, or the extreme Russian left, is probably the
most romantic organization operating in one of the most picturesque
countries in the whole theatre of this gigantic war. In the first place
the left is composed very largely of the type of cavalry which I think
no other country in the world can duplicate, that is the irregular
horsemen brought from all parts of the East. Tribes from the Caucasus,
Tartars, Mongols, and I know not what others, are here welded together
into brigades and divisions, and make, all told, nearly two complete
army corps with only a sprinkling of infantry and regular cavalry.
It was this army that gained such headway in its advance toward the
Hungarian plain, and it is this very army that is credited with so
alarming the Hungarians that they threatened independent peace unless
something was done for them. That something we know now was Austria’s
wail to Germany and the resulting Galician campaign.

During all the first part of the great German drive, this army with
its hordes of wild cavalry was proceeding confidently “hacking its way
through” all resistance, and capturing thousands upon thousands of
Austrians or Hungarians that came in its way. For nearly a month after
things were going badly in the West, it was moving victoriously forward
until it became evident that unless it stopped it would find itself an
independent expedition headed for Buda-Pest and completely out of touch
with the rest of the Russian line which was withdrawing rapidly. Then
came a pause, and as the flanking armies continued to retreat, the army
was very unwillingly obliged to retire also to keep in touch with its
neighbour. My own impression as to the spirits of this army, especially
of the cavalry corps, is similar to the impression one forms when one
sees a bulldog being let loose from another hound whom he has down,
and is chewing luxuriously when his master comes along, and drags him
away on a leash. So these troops have retired snarling and barking over
their shoulders, hoping that the enemy would follow close enough to let
them have another brush with them.

[Illustration: G. H. Mewes.]

There has been fighting of more or less acuteness, especially where
German troops have been engaged, but taken on the whole this portion
of the Russian front cannot be considered a serious one and their
withdrawal has been forced by the greater strategy. I found many of
the younger officers of the opinion that they could advance at any
time if they only had the permission from the powers that be. As for
the soldiers--a single look into those set swarthy faces was enough to
satisfy one that they would willingly advance in any event regardless
of policy or orders either. I have never seen such fierce looking men
in my life. Many of them do not speak Russian, and to them the war
is a real joy. Heretofore they have had to be content to fight among
themselves for nothing in particular; now that they have a chance
to fight for something really great they are in their element. I
question how valuable troops of this character would be under different
conditions, but here in this rough Bukovina country they are nearly
ideal for their work, as is manifest from the manner in which they have
swept the enemy before them.

On leaving Tarnopol we came directly to the head-quarters of one of
these corps, where we spent three extremely interesting days. The
position which this army was holding is, in a rough way, from the
junction of the Zota Lipa and the Dniester, down that river to a point
perhaps 20 versts west of Chocin, and thence in an irregular line
40 or 50 versts through Bukovina in the direction of the Roumanian
frontier. The Dniester itself is a deep-flowing river lying between
great bluffs which for miles skirt the river bank on both sides. These
bluffs are for the most part crested with heavy timber. In a general
way the Russians are holding one bank, and the Austrians the other,
though here and there patches of Russians have clung to the South side,
while in one or two spots Austrians backed by Germans have gained a
foothold on the north bank. The first afternoon I arrived, I went out
to a 356 metre hill from where I could look over the whole country.
I discerned easily the lines of the Austrian and Russian positions
between which was the valley through which flowed the Dniester. There
are any number of young Petrograd swells here who have left their
crack cavalry corps, many of which are dismounted and fighting in the
trenches in Poland and on other fronts, to put on the uniform of the
Cossack and lead these rough riders of the East in their romantic
sweeps towards the Hungarian plains. I have been in some armies where I
found hardly any one who spoke English, but in this one corps I found
nearly a score who spoke it, many as well as I did, which indicates
pretty clearly the type of young men that Russia has here, and is
one reason, no doubt, why the army has done so well.

[Illustration: Stanley Washburn, Prince Oblensky, Count Tolstoy, Count
Keller.]

Here I met Count Tolstoi, son of the novelist; Count Keller, whose
father was killed by Japanese shrapnel on the Motienling Pass in
Manchuria, and many other men whose names are well known in Russia.
Count Keller was the ranking Captain in a squadron (_sotnia_, I believe
they call it) of cavalry from the Caucasus, and carried us off to his
lair in a valley not far from the Dniester. Here we met a courteous old
Persian who commanded the regiment, and dined in a quaint old castle
where they had their head-quarters. Deep in its little valley, the
castle was not seen by the Austrians, but had long since been spotted
by the aeroplanes of the enemy. The result was that every afternoon
a few shells were sent over the southern ridge of hills, just to let
the regimental staff know that they were not forgotten. The day before
we arrived twelve horses were killed in the garden, and while we were
cleaning up for dinner, a shrapnel shell whined through the yard
bursting somewhere off in the brush.

After dinner the dancers of the regiment came up and in the half-light
performed their weird evolutions. In long flowing coats, with their
oriental faces, emitting uncanny sounds from their mouths, they formed
a picture that I shall long remember. Count Keller told me that in
spite of all their wildness they were fine troops to command, for, as
he said, “They have very high ideals of their profession. I may be
killed or wounded, but I am always sure that my men will never leave
me. They cannot speak my tongue, but there is not a man in my command
who would not feel himself permanently disgraced if he left the body of
his officer on the field of battle. They are absolutely fearless and
will go anywhere, caring nothing whatever for death, wounds, hardship
or anything else that war brings forth. I am very fond of them indeed.”

The positions at this point were about three versts distant from our
little isolated valley, and as they were out on the crest of the bluff
it was impossible to visit them until after dark. So on the great
veranda of the castle we sat late after our dinner, until darkness fell
and a great full moon rose slowly above the neighbouring hills flooding
the valley with its silver rays, bringing out the old white castle as
clearly in the darkness as a picture emerges from a photographic plate
when the developer is poured upon it. It was just after midnight when
Count Keller and I, well mounted on Cossack ponies, rode down into the
valley and turned our horses on to the winding road that runs beside
the little stream that leaps and gurgles over the rocks on the way
to the Dniester. For a mile or more we followed the river, and then
turning sharply to the right, took a bridle path and climbed slowly
up the sharp side of the bluff. For fifteen or twenty minutes we rode
through the woods, now in the shadow and now out in an opening where
the shadows of the branches swaying softly in the moonlight made
patterns on the road. Suddenly we came out upon a broad white road
where the Count paused.

“We are advised to leave the horses here,” he remarked casually, “Shall
we go on? Are you afraid?” Not knowing anything about the position I
had no ideas on the subject, so we continued down the moonlit road,
and while I was wondering where we were, we came out abruptly on the
bluff just above the river, where the great white road ran along
the crest for a mile or more. I paused for a moment to admire the
view. Deep down below us, like a ribbon of silver in the shimmering
moonlight, lay the great river. Just across on the other bank was the
Austrian line with here and there spots of flickering light where the
Austrians had fires in their trenches. There was not a sound to mar
the silence of the perfect night save the gentle rustle of the wind in
the trees. “The Austrians can see us plainly from here,” remarked the
Count indifferently. “Gallop!” The advice seemed sound to me, but not
knowing the country I was obliged to reply, “Which way?” “Right,” he
replied laconically.

It is sufficient to say that I put spurs to my horse, and for the mile
that lay exposed in the moonlight my little animal almost flew while
the Count pounded along a close second just behind me. A mile away we
reached the welcome shadows of a small bunch of trees, and as I rode
into the wood I was sharply challenged by a guttural voice, and as
I pulled my horse up on his haunches a wild-looking Cossack took my
bridle. Before I had time to begin an explanation, the Count came up
and the sharp words of the challenge were softened to polite speeches
of welcome from the officer in command.

We were in the front line trench or rather just behind it, for the road
lay above it while the trench itself was between it and the river where
it could command the crossing with its fire. Here as elsewhere, I found
men who could speak English, the one an officer and the other a man in
charge of a machine gun. This man had been five years in Australia and
had come back to “fight the Germans,” as he said. For an hour we sat up
on the crest of the trench under the shadow of a tree, and watched in
the sky the flare of a burning village to our right, which was behind
the Russian lines, and had been fired just at dark by Austrian shells.
I found that all the Russians spoke well of the Austrians. They said
they were kindly and good-natured, never took an unfair advantage,
lived up to their flags of truce, etc. Their opinion of the Germans
was exactly the opposite. One man said, “Sometimes the Austrians call
across that they won’t shoot during the night. Then we all feel easy
and walk about in the moonlight. One of our soldiers even went down
and had a bathe in the river, while the Austrians called across to him
jokes and remarks, which of course he could not understand. The Germans
say they won’t fire, and just as soon as our men expose themselves they
begin to shoot. They are always that way.”

[Illustration: Cossacks dancing the Tartars’ native dance.]

I have never known a more absolutely quiet and peaceful scene than this
from the trench on the river’s bluff. As I was looking up the streak of
silver below us, thinking thus, there came a deep boom from the east
and then another and another, and then on the quiet night the sharp
crackle of the machine guns and the rip and roar of volley firing. It
was one of those spasms of fighting that ripple up and down a line
every once in a while, but after a few minutes it died away, the last
echoes drifting away over the hills, and silence again reigned over the
Dniester. The fire in the village was burning low, and the first grey
streaks of dawn were tinging the horizon in the east when we left the
trench, and by a safer bridle path returned to the castle and took our
motor-car for head-quarters which we reached just as the sun was rising.

The positions along this whole front are of natural defence and have
received and required little attention. Rough shelter for the men, and
cover for the machine guns is about all that any one seems to care
for here. The fighting is regarded by these wild creatures as a sort
of movable feast, and they fight now in one place and now in another.
Of course they have distinctive lines of trenches, though they cannot
compare with the substantial works that one finds in the Bzura-Rawka
lines and the other really serious fronts in Poland and elsewhere. In
a general way it matters very little whether the army moves forward or
backward just here. The terrain for 100 versts is adapted to defence,
and the army can, if it had to do so, go back so far without yielding
to the enemy anything that would have any important bearing on the
campaign of the Russian Army as a whole. From the first day that I
joined this army, I felt the conviction that it could be relied upon to
take care of itself, and that its retirements or changes of front could
be viewed with something approaching to equanimity.




WITH A RUSSIAN CAVALRY CORPS




CHAPTER XIX

WITH A RUSSIAN CAVALRY CORPS


  ON THE DNIESTER,
  _July 4, 1915_.

It would not be in the least difficult for me to write a small volume
on my impressions and observations during the time that I was with
this particular cavalry corps on the Dniester; but one assumes that at
this advanced period in the war, readers are pretty well satiated with
descriptive material of all sorts, and there is so much news of vital
importance from so many different fronts, that the greatest merit of
descriptive writing in these days no doubt lies in its brevity. I will
therefore cut as short as possible the account of my stay in this very
interesting organization.

The General in command was a tough old cavalry officer who spoke
excellent English. He was of the type that one likes to meet at the
Front, and his every word and act spoke of efficiency and of the
soldier who loves his profession. His head-quarters were in a little
dirty village, and his rooms were in the second story of an equally
unpretentious building. The room contained a camp-bed and a group of
tables on which were spread the inevitable maps of the positions.
This particular General as far as I could gather spent about one half
of each day poring over his maps, and the other half in visiting his
positions. Certainly he seemed to know every foot of the terrain
occupied by his command, and every by-path and crossroad seemed
perfectly familiar to him. Without the slightest reservation (at least
as far as I could observe) he explained to me his whole position,
pointing it out on the map. When he began to talk of his campaign he
immediately became engrossed in its intricacies. Together we pored over
his map. “You see,” he said, “I have my -- brigade here. To the left
in the ravine I have one battery of big guns just where I can use them
nicely. Over here you see I have a bridge and am across the river.
Now the enemy is on this side here (and he pointed at a blue mark on
the map) but I do not mind; if he advances I shall give him a push
here (and again he pointed at another point on the map), and with my
infantry brigade I shall attack him just here, and as you see he will
have to go back”; and thus for half an hour he talked of the problems
that were nearest and dearest to his heart. He was fully alive to the
benefits that publicity might give an army, and did everything in
his power to make our visit as pleasant and profitable as possible.

[Illustration: H.I.H. The Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch, Commander
of two divisions of Cossacks.]

On the afternoon of the second day Prince Oblensky arranged for us to
meet the Grand Duke Michael who is commanding a division of Caucasian
cavalry, one of whose detachments we visited in the trenches a few
nights ago. I should say he is not much over forty years of age, and
he is as unaffected and democratic a person as one can well imagine.
I talked with him for nearly an hour on the situation, not only on
his immediate front but in the theatre of the war as a whole. Like
everyone in Russian uniform whom I have met, he was neither depressed
nor discouraged, but evinced the same stubborn optimism that one finds
everywhere in the Russian army. As one saw him in his simple uniform
with nothing to indicate his rank but shoulder straps of the same
material as his uniform, and barring the Cross of St. George (won by
his personal valour on the field of battle) without a decoration, it
was strange to think that this man living so simply in a dirty village
in this far fringe of the Russian Front, might have been the Czar of
all the Russias, living in the Winter Palace in Petrograd, but for a
few years in time of birth. The Western World likes to think of Russia
as an autocracy, with its nobility living a life apart surrounded by
form and convention, but now, at any rate, I think there is no country
in the world where the aristocracy are more democratic than in Russia.
It is true that the Czar himself is inaccessible, but he is about the
only man in Russia who is; and even he, when one does meet him, is as
simple, unaffected and natural as any ordinary gentleman in England or
in America.

From the Grand Duke’s head-quarters I motored out to the Staff of a
Cavalry Brigade, and had tea with the General who, after entertaining
us with a dance performed by a group of his tamed “wild men,” went
himself with us to his front line trench. His head-quarters were near
the front, so near in fact that while we were waiting for the dancers
to appear, a big shell fell in a field just across the way, with a
report that sent the echoes rolling away over hill and valley. It is
considered bad form to notice these interruptions however, and no
one winked an eye or took any notice of the incident. The General’s
trenches were not unlike those I had already before visited, except
that one could get into them in the daytime without risk of being shot
at if one came up through the woods, which ran rather densely to the
very crest of the bluff.

Here was the most curious sight that I have ever seen in war. The
rough-and-ready cavalrymen from the Caucasus with their great caps,
each as big as a bushel basket, all covered with wool about six inches
long, were lying about behind small earthworks on the fringe of the
woods peering along their rifle barrels which were pointed across the
river. On an almost similar elevation on the opposite side was the line
of the Austrian trenches. For once the sun was over our shoulders, and
in their eyes and not ours, so that I could safely walk to the edge of
the wood and study their works through my field glasses. Everything was
very quiet this particular afternoon, and I could see the blue-coated
figures of the enemy moving about behind their own trenches, as indeed
the Russians could with their naked eyes. The war has lasted so long
now, and the novelty has so worn off, that it is safe to do many things
that could not have been done in the early months. No one nowadays is
anxious to start anything unnecessary, and sniping is a bore to all
concerned, and it hardly draws a shot if one or two men are seen moving
about. It is only when important groups appear that shots are fired.

Not two hundred yards back in the woods were the bivouacs of the
reserves, and the hundreds and hundreds of the little ponies tethered
to trees. There they stood dozing in the summer sunshine, twitching
their tails and nipping each other occasionally. I have never seen
cavalry in the trenches before, much less cavalry with their horses so
near that they could actually wait until the enemy were almost in their
works and then mount and be a mile away before the trench itself was
occupied. In this rough country where the positions lend themselves
to this sort of semi-regular work, I dare say these peculiar types
of horsemen are extremely effective, though I question if they would
appear to the same advantage in other parts of the Russian operations.
As a matter of fact one of the regiments now here was formerly attached
to the Warsaw Front, but was subsequently removed from that army and
sent down to Bukovina as a place more suited to its qualities.

We had a bit of bad luck on this position with our motor-car which we
had left in a dip behind the line. Just as we were ready to start for
home, there came a sharp rainstorm which so wetted the roads that the
hill we had come down so smoothly on dry soil proved impossible to go
up when wet. A _sotnia_ of Cossacks pulled us out of our first mess
with shouts and hurrahs, but when night fell we found ourselves in
another just as bad a few hundreds yards further along. For an hour
we went through the misery of spinning wheels and racing engines
without effect. We had stopped, by bad luck, in about the only place
where the road was visible from the Austrian lines, but as it was dark
they could not see us. When the chauffeur lighted his lamps, however,
three shells came over from the enemy, extinguishing the lamps. About
ten in the evening we started on foot, and walked to a point where we
borrowed a car from the brigade staff, and went on home. Our own car
was extricated at daylight by a band of obliging Cossacks who had been
on duty all night in the trenches, and were going into the reserve for
a day’s rest.

Leaving this army corps in the afternoon we motored further east, and
paid our respects to a brigade of the regular cavalry, composed of
the --th Lancers and the -- Hussars, both crack cavalry regiments of
the Russian army, and each commanded by officers from the Petrograd
aristocracy. The brigade had been in reserve for three days, and as
we saw it was just being paraded before its return to the trenches.
The --th Lancers I had seen before in Lwow just after the siege of
Przemysl, in which they took part, at that time fighting in the
trenches alongside of the infantry. I have never seen mounts in finer
condition, and I believe there is no army on any of the fronts where
this is more typical than in the Russian. On this trip I have been
in at least fifteen or twenty cavalry units, and, with one exception,
I have not seen anywhere horses in bad shape; the exception had been
working overtime for months without chance to rest or replace their
mounts. The Colonel of the Lancers I had known before in Lwow, and he
joined me in my motor and rode with me the 20 versts to the position
that his cavalry was going to relieve at that time. This gentleman
was an ardent cavalryman and had served during the greater part of
the Manchurian campaign. To my surprise I found that he had been in
command of a squadron of Cossacks that came within an ace of capturing
the little town of Fakumen where was Nogi’s staff; and he was as
much surprised to learn that I was attached to Nogi’s staff there as
correspondent for an American paper.

The Colonel was now in charge of the Lancer regiment and was, as I
learned, a great believer in the lance as a weapon. “Other things being
equal,” he told me, “I believe in giving the soldiers what they want.
They do want the lance, and this is proved by the fact that in this
entire campaign not one of my troopers has lost his lance. The moral
effect is good on our troops, for it gives them confidence, and it is
bad on the enemy, for it strikes terror into their hearts. Before this
war it was supposed that cavalry could never get near infantry. My
regiment has twice attacked infantry and broken them up both times. In
both cases they broke while we were still three or four hundred yards
distant, and of course the moment they broke they were at our mercy.”

For an hour or more we motored over the dusty roads before we dipped
over a crest and dropped down into a little village not far from the
Dniester, where were the head-quarters of the regiment that the Lancers
were coming in to relieve. As we turned the corner of the village
street a shrapnel shell burst just to the south of us, and I have an
idea that someone had spotted our dust as we came over the crest.

The cavalry here was a regiment drawn from the region of the Amur
river, and as they were just saddling up preparatory to going back
into reserve for a much-needed rest, I had a good chance to note the
condition of both men and mounts, which were excellent. The latter were
Siberian ponies, which make, I think, about the best possible horses
for war that one can find. They are tough, strong, live on almost
anything, and can stand almost any extremes of cold or heat without
being a bit the worse for it. These troops have had, I suppose, as hard
work as any cavalry in the Russian Army, yet the ponies were as fat as
butter and looked as contented as kittens. The Russians everywhere I
have seen them are devoted to their horses, and what I say about the
condition of the animals applies not only to the cavalry but even to
the transport, to look at which, one would never imagine that we were
in the twelfth month of war. The Colonel of the Amur Cavalry gave us
tea and begged us to stay on, but as it was getting late and the road
we had to travel was a new one to us, and at points ran not far from
the lines of the enemy, we deemed it wiser to be on our way. Some sort
of fight started after dark, and to the south of us, from the crests
of the hills that we crossed, we could see the flare of the Austrian
rockets and the occasional jagged flash of a bursting shell; further
off still the sky was dotted with the glow of burning villages. In fact
for the better part of the week I spent in this vicinity I do not think
that there was a single night that one could not count fires lighted by
the shells from the artillery fire.

Midnight found us still on the road, but our Prince, who was ever
resourceful, discovered the estate of an Austrian noble not far from
the main road, and we managed to knock up the keeper and get him to let
us in for the night. The Count who owned the place was in the Austrian
Army, and the Countess was in Vienna.

[Illustration: The Russian soldier at meal-time. Ten men share the
soup, which is served in a huge pan.]

Leaving this place early the following morning we started back for
Tarnopol and the Headquarters of the Army that stands second in the
Russian line of battle counting from the left flank.




ON THE ZOTA LIPA




CHAPTER XX

ON THE ZOTA LIPA


  TARNOPOL,
  _July 6, 1915_.

We found the General of the army now occupying the line that runs
from approximately the head of the Zota Lipa to its confluence with
the Dniester, living in a palace south-west of ----. These wonderful
estates come as a great surprise to strangers travelling through the
country. One passes a sordid Galician village filled with dogs and
half-naked children, and perhaps on the outskirts one comes to a
great gate and turning in finds oneself in a veritable Versailles,
with beautiful avenues of trees, lakes, waterfalls and every other
enhancement of the landscape that money and good taste can procure. I
have never seen more beautiful grounds or a more attractively decorated
and beautifully furnished house than this one where our particular
General was living with his staff.

During my visit to this army, I saw and talked with the General
commanding twice, and he permitted me to see his maps and gave his
consent to my visiting any of his line which I desired to see. He
sent one of his staff with me, who spoke English, as a guide and
interpreter. Again I regret I cannot give the General’s name, but
suffice to say that from this head-quarters I gathered that, barring
the failure of their centre army, a retreat would probably have been
unnecessary, though it is folly to disguise the fact that this army was
hard pressed, suffered not a little, and was constantly outnumbered in
both men and munitions. It is probably not unfair to place its whole
movement under the category of a rear-guard action.

During the retreat from Stryj to the Zota Lipa, where the army was when
I visited it, captures of enemy prisoners were made to the number of
53,000, as I was informed by the highest authority. The bulk of these
were Austrians. As I said at the time, I incline to think this must be
considered one of the most remarkable retreats in history. If I was
disposed to doubt this statement when I first heard it, my hesitation
vanished, when, during three days, I personally saw between 4,000 and
5,000 Austrian prisoners that had been taken within a week, regardless
of the fact that the army was still retiring before the enemy. I
think that the mere mention of the matter of prisoners is enough to
convince the reader that this army was not a demoralized one, and that
the furthest stretch of imagination could not consider it a badly
defeated one. A glance at the map serves to show that the country,
from the beginning of this retreat to the Zota Lipa, is an ideal one
in which to fight defensively! and as a matter of fact the country for
100 versts further east is equally well adapted to the same purpose.
A number of streams running almost due north and south flow into the
Dniester river, and as each of these rivulets runs between more or less
pretentious bluffs it is a very simple matter to hold them with very
little fieldworks.

What the Russians have been doing here is this. They take up one of
these natural lines of defence and throw up temporary works on the
bluffs and wait for the Austrians. When the latter come up they find
the Russians too strong to be turned out with anything short of the
full enemy strength. Usually a week is taken up by the Austro-German
forces in bringing up their full strength, getting their guns in
position and preparing for an attack. The Russians in the meantime sit
on their hills, taking all the losses that they can get, and repel the
Austrian preliminary attacks as long as they can do so without risking
too much. By the time that enemy operations have reached a really
serious stage, and an attack in force is made, it is discovered that
the main force of the Russians has departed, and when the positions
are finally carried, only a rearguard of cavalry is discovered holding
the trenches; the bulk of these usually get away on their horses,
leaving the exhausted Austrians sitting in a hardly-won line with
the knowledge that the Russians are already miles away waiting for
them to repeat the operation all over again. The prisoners have been
captured for the most part in preliminary operations on these works,
on occasions where the Russians have made counter attacks or where
the Austrians have advanced too far and been cut off. The youth and
inexperience of their officers, and the fact that the rank and file
have no heart in the fight, have made it easy for them to go too far
in the first place, and willing to surrender without a fight when
they discover their mistake. All of this I was told at head-quarters,
and had an opportunity to verify the next day by going to one of the
forward positions on the Zota Lipa.

I have within the last few months, after poking about on the billiard
table terrain of the Polish Front, acquired a great liking for hills,
protected by woods if possible. I have therefore picked places on this
trip where I could get to points of observation from which I could
see the terrain without being, shot at, if this could be avoided with
dignity. It was just such a place as this towards which we headed
the next day. My own impressions were, and still are, that this army
might retire further yet from its present positions. There are certain
reasons which I cannot divulge at present, but are no doubt understood
in England, that makes it unwise for these armies to attempt to hold
advance positions if they can fall quietly back without the sacrifice
of any positions which will have a bad effect on the Russian campaign
as a whole. This particular army with its neighbour to the south can
do this for more than 100 versts without materially impairing its own
_moral_, and, as far as I can see, without giving the enemy any other
advantage than something to talk about.

On the way out to the positions I passed important bodies of troops
“changing front,” for it is hardly possible to call what I witnessed,
a retreat. They came swinging down the road laughing, talking and
then singing at the top of their lungs. Had I not known the points of
the compass, I should have concluded that they had scored a decisive
victory and were marching on the capital of the enemy. But of such
stuff are the moujik soldiers of the Czar.

We first visited the head-quarters of one of the Army corps, and then
motored through Ztoczow, a very beautiful little Austrian town lying
just at the gateway between ridges of hills that merge together as they
go eastward, making the road climb to the plateau land which, indented
by the valleys of the rivers running into the Dniester, stretches
practically for 100 versts east of here. Turning south from the little
town we climbed up on to this plateau land, and motored for 15 or 20
versts south to the head-quarters of a General commanding a division
of Cossack cavalry from the Caucasus. With him we had tea, and as he
spoke excellent English I was able to gather much of interest from his
point of view. He was not sufficiently near head-quarters nor of rank
high enough to be taken into the higher councils, and therefore did
not know the reasons for the constant retirements. Again and again he
assured me that the positions now held could as far as he was concerned
be retained indefinitely. His was the thankless job of the rear guard,
and it apparently went against his fighting instincts to occupy these
splendid positions and then retire through some greater strategy, which
he, far off in the woods from everything, did not understand.

One is constantly impressed with the isolation of the men holding
important minor commands. For days and weeks they are without outside
news, and many of them have even only a vague idea as to what is going
on in neighbouring corps, and almost none at all of the movements in
adjoining armies. I was convinced from the way this General--and he
was a fine old type--talked, that he did not consider his men had ever
been beaten at all, and that he looked upon his movements merely as the
result of orders given for higher strategic considerations. From him we
went out to the line on the Zota Lipa. The Russians at this time had
retired from the Gnita Lipa (the great Austro-German “victory” where
they lost between 4,000 and 5,000 prisoners and I know not how many
dead and wounded) and had now for four days been quietly sitting on the
ridges of the second Lipa waiting for the enemy to come up. I think
no army can beat the Russians when it comes to forced marches, and
after each of these actions they have retired in two days a distance
that takes the enemy four or five to cover. It is because of this
speed of travel that there have been stragglers, and it is of such
that the enemy have taken the prisoners of whom they boast so much.
The position we visited was on a wonderful ridge crested with woods.
The river lay so deeply in its little valley that, though but a mile
away, we could not see the water at all, but only the shadow wherein
it lay. Our trenches were just on the edge of it while our guns and
reserves were behind us. From our position we could look into the rear
of our trenches, and across the river where the country was more open
and where the Austrians were just beginning to develop their advance.
Though the Russians had been here for several days, the enemy was just
coming up now and had not yet brought up his guns at all.

Our infantry were sniping at the blue figures which dotted the wood
a verst or two away, but at such a range that its effect was not
apparent. Our guns had not yet fired a shot, and hence the Austrians
knew nothing of our position but the fact that they were in contact
with snipers in some sort of a trench. In any case the Austrians in
a thin blue line which one could see with the naked eye, were busily
digging a trench across a field just opposite us and about 4,000 metres
distant, while with my glasses I could see the blue-clad figures
slipping about on the fringe of the wood behind their trench diggers.
Our observation point was under a big tree on an advanced spur of the
hill, a position which I think would not be held long after the arrival
of the Austrian guns. The battery commander had screwed his hyperscope
into the tree trunk, and was hopping about in impatience because his
field wire had not yet come up from the battery position in the rear.
He smacked his lips with anticipation as he saw the constantly,
increasing numbers of the enemy parading about opposite without any
cover, and at frequent intervals kept sending messengers to hurry on
the field telegraph corps.

[Illustration: Cavalry taking up position.]

[Illustration: Russian band playing the men to the trenches.]

In a few minutes there came a rustle in the brush, and two soldiers
with a reel unwinding wire came over the crest, and dropping on their
knees behind some bushes a few yards away, made a quick connection with
the telephone instrument, and then announced to the commander that
he was in touch with his guns. Instantly his face lit up, but before
speaking he turned and took a squint through his hyperscope; then with
clenched fist held at arms length he made a quick estimate of the
range and snapped out an order over his shoulder. The orderly at the
’phone mumbled something into the mouthpiece of the instrument. “All
ready,” he called to the commander. “Fire,” came the quick response.
Instantly there came a crash from behind us. I had not realized that
the guns were so near until I heard the report and the shell whine over
our heads. We stood with our glasses watching the Austrians. A few
seconds later came the white puff in the air appearing suddenly as from
nowhere, and then the report of the explosion drifted back to us on the
breeze. The shot was high and over. Another quick order, and another
screamed over our head, this time bursting well in front of the trench.

Through my glasses I could see that there was some agitation among the
blue figures in the field across the river. Again the gun behind us
snapped out its report, and this time the shell burst right over the
trench and the diggers disappeared as by magic, and even the blue coats
on the edge of the wood suddenly vanished from our view. The artillery
officer smiled quietly, took another good look through the glass at
his target, called back an order, and the battery came into action
with shell after shell breaking directly over the trench. But as far
as we could see there was not a living soul, only the dark brown ridge
where lay the shallow ditch which the Austrians had been digging. The
value of the shrapnel was gone, and the Captain sighed a little as he
called for his carefully saved and precious high-explosives, of which
as I learned he had very few to spare. The first fell directly in an
angle of the trench, and burst with the heavy detonation of the higher
explosive, sending up a little volcano of dust and smoke, while for a
minute the hole smoked as though the earth were on fire.

“They are in that place right enough,” was the verdict of the director,
“I saw them go. I’ll try another,” and a second later another shell
burst in almost the identical spot. That it had found a living target
there could be no doubt, for suddenly the field was dotted with the
blue coats scampering in all directions for the friendly shelter of
the wood in their rear. It was an object lesson of the difference in
effectiveness between high explosive and shrapnel. The Captain laughed
gleefully at his success as he watched the effect of his practice.
Nearly all the Austrians were running, but away to the right was
a group of five, old timers perhaps who declined to run, and they
strolled leisurely away in the manner of veterans who scorn to hurry.
The Commander again held out his fist, made a quick estimate of the
range and called a deviation of target and a slight elevation of the
gun. Again the gun crashed behind us and I saw the shell fall squarely
in the centre of the group. From the smoking crater three figures
darted at full speed. I saw nothing of the other two. No doubt their
fragments lay quivering in the heap of earth and dust from which the
fumes poured for fully a minute. It was excellent practice, and when I
congratulated the officer he smiled and clicked his heels as pleased
as a child. We saw nothing more of the enemy while we remained. No
doubt they were waiting for the night to come to resume their digging
operations.

How long the Russians will remain on this line can be merely
speculation. Many of these lines that are taken up temporarily prove
unusually strong, or the enemy proves unexpectedly weak, and what was
intended as only a halt, gradually becomes strengthened until it may
become the final line. My own idea was, however, that after forcing
the Austrians to develop their full strength and suffer the same heavy
losses, the Russians would again retire to a similar position and do
it all over again. It is this type of action which is slowly breaking
the hearts of the enemy. Again and again they are forced into these
actions which make them develop their full strength and are taken only
when supported by their heavy guns, only to find, when it is all over,
that the Russians have departed and are already complacently awaiting
them a few days’ marches further on. This kind of game has already told
heavily on the Austrian spirits. How much longer they can keep it up
one can only guess. I don’t think they can do it much longer, as not
one of these advances is now yielding them any strategic benefit, and
the asset of a talking point to be given out by the German Press Bureau
probably does not impress them as a sufficiently good reason to keep
taking these losses and making these sacrifices.

Leaving the position we returned to our base, where we spent the night
preparatory to moving on the next day to the army that lies next in
the line north of us, being the third from the extreme Russian left.
My impressions of the condition and spirit of the army visited this
day were very satisfactory, and I felt as I did about its southern
neighbor--that its movements for the moment have not a vast importance.
It may go back now, but when the conditions which are necessary are
fulfilled it can almost certainly advance. Probably we need expect
nothing important for some months here and further retirements may be
viewed with equanimity by the Allies. Not too far away there is a final
line which they will not leave without a definite stand and from which
I question if they can be driven at all.




A VISIT TO AN HISTORIC ARMY




CHAPTER XXI

A VISIT TO AN HISTORIC ARMY


  BRODY, GALICIA,
  _July 7, 1915_.

For the next three days I was with the head-quarters and army of
one of the most remarkable fighting organizations that this war has
produced on any Front. I am not supposed to mention its number, but I
dare say the censor will let me say that it is that one which has been
commanded for nearly a year now by General Brussilov. This army, as
the reader who has followed the war with any closeness will remember,
is the one that entered Galicia from the extreme east in the first
week of the war, and that in thirty days of continuous fighting, with
practically no rail transport, turned the Austrian right and forced the
evacuation of Lwow at the end of August. In spite of their losses and
exhaustion this army marched right on the re-inforced Austrian centre
and engaged that force with such ferocity, that when the position of
Rawa Ruska fell the Grodek line collapsed before its attacks. Still
unexhausted and with practically no rest, the same troops, or what
was left of them, plus reinforcements, moved on Przemysl, and by their
fierce assaults laid the foundation for what subsequently became the
siege of the Austrian stronghold. But Brussilov was no man to cool his
heels on siege operations, and when the investment was completed, his
corps swept on past, and began driving the Austrians back toward the
Carpathians.

As the New Year came, and the weeks passed by, the whole world watched
his devoted troops forcing back the Austrians and their newly arrived
German supports back into the passes which had been considered all but
impregnable. He was well through the Dukla and making headway slowly
but surely when the great German blow fell on the Dunajec. Leaving his
successful operations in the Carpathians, he fell back rapidly in time
to connect with the retreating army of the Dunajec and temporarily
brace it up for its temporary stand on the San. The defence of Przemysl
fell to the lot of the General, but as he himself said to me, “There
was nothing but a heap of ruins where had been forts. How could we
defend it?” Still, they did defend it for as many days as it took the
enemy to force the centre, which had not sufficient forces to stem the
advancing tide that was still concentrated against them. Even then,
as I am assured by a Staff officer, they hung on until their right
flank division was uncovered and menaced with envelopment, when once
more they were obliged to withdraw in the direction of the city of Lwow.

[Illustration: After the Russian evacuation of Lwow. The Bug Lancers
retreating in good order.]

In this retreat there is no denying that the devoted army was hammered
heavily, and probably its right flank was somewhat tumbled up in the
confusion. Nevertheless, it was still full of fight when the Grodek
line was reached. By this time, however, the greater strategy had
decided on retiring entirely from Galicia, or very nearly so, to a
point which had already been selected; and the battle on the Grodek
line was a check rather than a final stand, though there is no question
that the Russians would have stopped had the rest of their line been
able to hold its positions. But the shattered army of the Dunajec,
in spite of reinforcements, was too badly shaken up, and short of
everything, to make feasible any permanent new alignment of the
position. The action around Lwow was not a serious one, though it was
a hard fought and costly battle. It was made with no expectation of
saving the town, but only to delay the Germans while other parts of the
line were executing what the Russians call “their manœuvres.”

From Lwow to the position where I found the army, was a rearguard
action and nothing more, and apparently not a very serious one at
that. The best authorities have told me that the Russians withdrew from
Lwow city in a perfectly orderly manner, and that there was neither
excitement nor confusion, a state of affairs in great contrast to that
which existed when the Austrians left in September. The Austrian staff
took wing in such hot haste that the General’s maps, with pencils,
magnifying glasses and notes were found lying on the table just as he
had left them when he hurried from the room. The Russians may also have
panic on occasions, but if they have I certainly have never seen any
indication of it in any of the operations that I have witnessed.

The new line occupied runs from approximately the head of the Zota
Lipa along the Bug in the direction of Krasne, where the Austrians
hold the village and the Russians the railroad station, and thence in
the general direction of Kamioka and slightly west of Sokal where the
army which lies between it and the former army of the Dunajec begins.
In going over this terrain, I was of the opinion that this line was
not designed originally as the permanent stand; but the removal of
German troops from this Front has sufficiently weakened the Austrians,
so it is quite possible that it may become the low water mark of the
retreat. However, it is of very little importance, in my opinion,
whether the army holds on here, or continues to retreat for another 60
or 80 versts, where prepared positions at many points give excellent
defensive opportunities. This army as I found it is in good shape. It
is true that many of its corps have been depleted but these are rapidly
filling up again. There is reason to believe, however, that this army
is no longer the objective of the enemy, and that for the present at
least it will not be the object of any serious attack. Behind it for
many versts there is nothing of sufficient strategic importance the
capture of which would justify the enemy in the expenditure which will
be necessary to dislodge it.

I met General Brussilov several times and dined with him the first
evening after spending almost three-quarters of an hour with him
looking at the maps of the position. I think it would be impossible
for anyone to be a pessimist after an hour with this officer. He
is a thin-faced handsome man of about fifty-five; in every respect
the typical hard-fighting cavalry officer. He is just the man one
would expect to find in command of an army with the record that his
has made. I asked him if he was tired after his year of warfare. He
laughed derisively. “Tired! I should say not. It is my profession. I
shall never be tired.” I cannot of course quote him on any military
utterances, but I left him with the certainty that he at least was
neither depressed nor discouraged. That he was disappointed at having
to retire is certainly true; but it is with him as I have found it
with many others--this set-back has made them only the more ardent for
conditions to be such that they can have another try at it and begin
all over again. All these ranking officers have unlimited faith in the
staying qualities of their men, and little faith in what the Austrians
will do when the Germans go away. If _moral_, as Napoleon says, is
three times the value of physical assets we need have no fear as to the
future where Brussilov is in command of an army.

The General at once agreed to let me visit some observation point
where I could have a glimpse of his positions and the general nature
of the terrain. On his large scale map we found a point that towered
more than 200 metres above the surrounding country, and he advised
me to go there. So on the following day we motored to a certain army
head-quarters, where the General in command gave us one of his staff,
who spoke English, and an extra motor, and sent us on our way to
a division then holding one of the front line trenches. Here by a
circuitous route, to avoid shell fire, we proceeded to the observation
point in question. It was one of the most beautifully arranged that I
have ever visited, with approaches cut in through the back, and into
trenches and bomb-proofs on the outside of the hill where were erected
the hyperscopes for the artillery officers to study the terrain.

I could clearly see the back of our own trenches with the soldiers
moving about in them. In the near foreground almost at our feet was
one of our own batteries carefully tucked away in a little dip in
the ground, and beautifully masked from the observing eye of the
aeroplanist. To the south lay the line of the Austrian trenches, and
behind that a bit of wood in which, according to the General who
accompanied us, the Austrians had a light battery hidden away. Still
further off behind some buildings was the position of the Austrian
big guns, and the artillery officer in command of the brigade, whose
observation point was here, told me that there were two 12-inch guns at
this point, though they had not yet come into action.

Directly east of us lay the valley of the Bug, as flat as a board,
with the whole floor covered with areas of growing crops, some more
advanced in ripeness than others, giving the appearance from our
elevation of a gigantic chessboard. Away off to the west some big guns
were firing occasionally, the sound of their reports and the bursting
shells drifting back lazily to us. At one point on the horizon a
village was burning, great clouds of dense smoke rolling up against
the skyline. Otherwise the afternoon sunshine beat down on a valley
that looked like a veritable farmer’s paradise, steeped in serenity
and peace. For an hour we remained in this lovely spot, studying every
detail of the landscape, and wondering when if ever it would be turned
into a small hell of fury by the troops that now lay hidden under our
very eyes. We left shortly before six and motored back in the setting
sunlight to our head-quarters. Early the next morning I again went to
see General Brussilov and almost the first thing he told me was that
there had been a stiff fight the night before. The reader may imagine
my disappointment to learn that within two hours of my departure the
Austrians had launched an attack on the very chessboard that I had
been admiring so much during the afternoon in the observation station.
From this point, in comparative safety, I could have watched the whole
enterprise from start to finish with the maximum of clearness and the
minimum of risk. I have never seen a more ideal spot from which to see
a fight, and probably will never again have such an opportunity as the
one I missed last night.

I heard here, as I have been hearing now for a week, that there was
a tendency for the Germans to disappear from this Front, and it was
believed that all the troops that could be safely withdrawn were being
sent in the direction of Cholm-Lublin, where it was generally supposed
the next German drive against the Russians would take place. At the
moment this point on the Russian Front represented the serious sector
of their line, and so we determined not to waste more time here but to
head directly for Cholm and from there proceed to the army defending
that position, the reformed army of the Dunajec. Leaving that afternoon
we motored back into Russia, where the roads are good, and headed for
Cholm. On the way up I called at the head-quarters of the army lying
between Brussilov and the army of the Dunajec (as I shall still call
it for identification), where I lunched with the General in command
and talked with him about the situation. He freely offered me every
facility to visit his lines, but as they were far distant and the
only communications were over execrable roads which were practically
impossible for a motor, and as his Front was not then active, it did
not seem worth while to linger when there was prospect of a more
serious Front just beyond. As I am now approaching the zone which
promises to be of interest in the near future, it is necessary for
me to speak of positions and armies with some ambiguity if I am to
remain in the good graces of the censor. Suffice to say that the army I
skipped holds a line running from the general direction of Sokal, along
the Bug to the vicinity of Grubeschow, where it bends to the west,
hitting into a rough and rolling country, with its flank near a certain
point not too far south-east of Cholm.

I cannot speak authoritatively of this army as I did not visit the
positions, though I know of them from the maps. I believe from the
organizations attached to it, some of which I know of from past
performances, that this army is perfectly capable of holding its own
position as it now stands, providing strategy in which it is not
personally involved does not necessitate its shifting front. If its
neighbour on the west should be able to advance, I dare say that this
army also might make some sort of a move forward.

It is futile at this time to make any further speculation. Even at best
my judgments in view of the length of front and shortness of time at
my disposal must be made on extremely hurried and somewhat superficial
observation. It may be better, however, to get a somewhat vague idea
of the whole front than to get exact and accurate information from one
army, which in the final analysis may prove to be an inactive one in
which no one is interested.




THE NEW ARMY OF THE FORMER DUNAJEC LINE




CHAPTER XXII

THE NEW ARMY OF THE FORMER DUNAJEC LINE

  CHOLM,
  _July 11, 1915_.

Ever since I started up the line of armies from the Bukovina, I have
been apprehensive about the point in the line held by this army which
suffered so badly on its old position when it was the object and centre
of the great German drive in Galicia. The position which it occupies
from a point perhaps forty odd versts south-east of Cholm, through a
point somewhat south of Krasnystav to the general direction of Bychawa,
is at present the most serious point of German advance. It is clear
that the capture of Lublin with its number of railroads centring there,
would paralyse the position of the whole line. As I have said before,
this stroke doubtless represents the one that the enemy most gladly
would accomplish in their whole Galician movement, for the pressing
of the Russians back here would probably spell the evacuation of
Warsaw, an object for which the Germans have spent so many hundreds of
thousands of lives, so far to no purpose.

As I have crossed a number of the recuperating fragments of the old
Dunajec army in quarters where they were having comparatively an easy
time, I was curious to see how the new one was composed. I was received
kindly by the General in command, and soon realized that his army, save
in number, was practically an entirely new organization built up from
corps that have been taken from all quarters of the Russian Front for
this purpose. The General himself is new to the command, and so one may
regard this organization quite apart from the history of the one that
bore the burden of the great Galician drive in May. As soon as I saw
the corps here, I came to the conclusion at once that the Russians had
reached a point where they intended to make a serious fight. I at once
recognized four corps which I have known in other quarters of the war,
and wherever they have been they have made a reputation for themselves.
The sight of these magnificent troops pouring in made one feel that
whether the battle, which every one seems to think is impending, should
be won or lost, it would be an action of the most important nature.
The new General impressed me as much as any soldier I have seen in
Russia. Heretofore he has been in command of a corps which is said
to be one of the finest in the whole Russian Army. I had never seen him
until this visit, and as a matter of fact I had never even heard of
his name. When he came into the room with his old uniform blouse open
he was a picture of a rough-and-ready soldier. Steel blue eyes under
heavy grey brows and a great white moustache gave an impression of
determination, relieved by the gentleness that flickered in the blue of
his eyes as well as the suggestion of sensitiveness about the corners
of his firm mouth. From the first sentence he spoke, I realized that he
meant business, and that this army, when the time came and whatever the
results might be, would put up a historic fight.

[Illustration: A Russian eight-inch gun going into position during the
fighting round Lublin.]

At his invitation I went with him later in the afternoon to look at
some new guns that had just come in. They were very interesting and
encouraging, but cannot be discussed at present. With them had come
new artillerymen, and the general went about addressing each batch.
His talk was something like this, freely translated, “Welcome to my
command, my good children. You are looking fit and well, and I am glad
to have you with me. Now I suppose that you think you have come here to
help me hold back the Germans. Well, you are mistaken. We are not here
to hold anybody, but to lick the enemy out of his boots, and drive them
all clean out of Russia, Poland and Galicia too, and you look to me
like the men that could do the job.” The Russian soldiers usually cheer
to order, but these soldiers responded with a roar, and when dismissed
ran off to their positions cheering as long as they could be seen.

That night I dined with the General. In the midst of dinner some
reinforcements passed up the street weary and footsore from a long
day on the road. The General, dragging his staff with him, went out
into the street, and stood, napkin in hand, watching each company
as it passed him and calling to each a word of greeting. As the men
passed one could see that each was sizing up the chief in whose hands
rested their lives, and the future of their army; one could read their
thoughts plainly enough. “Here is a man to trust. He will pull us
through or die in the attempt.”

After dinner I went for a stroll with him, and he did not pass a
soldier without stopping to speak for a moment. Late in the evening I
saw him walking down the main street of the primitive little town stick
in hand, and at every corner he stopped to talk with his men. I have
never seen an army where the relations between officers and men were
as they are in Russia, and even in Russia not such as between this
man and his own soldiers. Already he has lost his own son in the war,
yet has accepted his loss with a stoicism that reminds one a little of
General Nogi under similar circumstances. This then is the man to whom
Russia has entrusted what for the moment appears as her most important
front.

The General permitted Prince Mischersky to accompany me during my
visit to the positions on the following day. The Prince who is the
personal aide-de-camp of the Emperor, and a charming man, took me in
his own motor, and early we arrived at the head-quarters of a certain
army corps. From here we drove to the town of Krasnystav where was
the General of a lesser command. This point, though 14 versts from
the German gun positions, was under fire from heavy artillery, and
two 8-inch shells fell in the town as we entered, spouting bricks and
mortar in every direction while great columns of black smoke poured
from the houses that had been struck. While we were talking with
the General in his rooms, another shell fell outside with a heavy
detonation. From here we visited the division of another corps, where
we borrowed horses and rode up to their reserve trenches and had a look
at the troops, some of the most famous in Russia, whose name is well
known wherever the readers have followed the fortunes of the war. We
were perhaps 600 or 800 yards from the front line, and while we chatted
with the grizzled old commander of a certain regiment, the enemy began
a spasm of firing on the front line trench ahead of us, eleven shells
bursting in a few minutes. Then they suspended entirely and once again
quiet reigned through the woodland in which our reserves were.

From here by a narrow path we struck off to the west and worked our way
up into one of the new front line trenches which are laid out on an
entirely new plan, and have been in course of preparation ever since
the days of the fighting on the San. They are the best trenches I have
ever seen, and are considerably better in my opinion than those on the
Blonie line in front of Warsaw which, before this, were the best that
had ever come under my observation. Many things that I saw during this
day led me to the conclusion that the Russians were doing everything in
their power to prevent a repetition of the drive on the Dunajec. The
German line of communications here, as I am informed, runs viâ Rawa
Ruska, and owing to the difficulties of the terrain between where they
now stand and the Galician frontier, it will be very difficult for them
to retire directly south. Success in an action here, then, is of
great importance to them. If they attack and fail to advance, they must
count on the instant depression of the whole Austrian line, for the
Austrians even when successful have not been greatly enthusiastic. If
they are driven back, they must retire in the direction of Rawa Ruska,
across the face of the army standing to the east; they must strike
west through Poland, crossing the front of the army lying beside the
Vistula; or they must try to negotiate the bad roads south of them,
which present no simple problem. If the Russian centre can give them a
good decisive blow there is every reason to believe that both flanking
armies can participate pretty vigorously in an offensive. No one
attaches much importance to the Austrians if the Germans can be beaten.
As long as they continue successful, the Austrians, however, are an
important and dangerous part of the Russian problem.

[Illustration: Russian artillery officers in an observation position
during the fighting round Lublin.]




BACK TO THE WARSAW FRONT




CHAPTER XXIII

BACK TO THE WARSAW FRONT


  Dated:
  WARSAW,
  _July 24, 1915_.

Leaving Lublin early in the morning we motored to that certain place
where the army next in line to the one I have last discussed is
stationed. Since I have been away there have been many changes and much
shifting about of corps, and I find that nearly half of this army is
now east of the Vistula, and its left joins the right of the one we
have just left, the two together forming the line of defence on Lublin.
As I have been in the army on the Vistula two or three times before, I
find many friends there, and learn from them of the successful movement
of a few days before when an early Austrian advance taken in the flank
resulted in a loss to the enemy, of prisoners alone, of 297 officers
and a number reported to be 23,000 men, practically all of whom are
said to be Austrians. Here as elsewhere great confidence is expressed
as to the position in the south. We are even told that the bulk of the
Germans are now being shifted to another point, and that the next blow
will fall directly on or north of Warsaw.

On returning to Warsaw I found that during our absence there had been
a grave panic caused by the advances in the south, and that several
hundred thousand of the population had already left, while practically
all the better class had departed a week ago. The hotels were almost
deserted, and the streets emptier than I have ever seen them. But
friends who are unusually well informed told me that the danger was
past, and the general impression was that the worst was over on
this front. For two whole days we had a period practically without
rumours or alarms, and then began what now looks to be one of the
darkest periods that any of us have yet seen here, not even excepting
the panicky days of October last when the Germans were all but in
the city itself. First came rumours of heavy fighting to the north,
around Przasnys, Lomza, Ciechanow, and reports of Russian reverses and
retirements on a new line of defence, and forthwith Warsaw was again
thrown into a state of excessive nerves. One becomes so accustomed to
these constant alarms that they have come to make little impression on
one. The next day a friend coming in from the armies engaged announced
with the greatest confidence that the situation was better, and that
the new Russian line was in every way better than the old one and that
everything was going well. Fighting which is reported to be serious
is going on to the south of us, on the Lublin-Cholm line, but is not
causing serious anxiety here. On the whole nearly all the usually
well-informed persons here felt moderately easy about the situation.

[Illustration: Retreat from Warsaw. Burning crops.]

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. A Jewish family leaving Warsaw.]

Suddenly there came a bolt out of the blue. With no warning it was
announced that the evacuation of Warsaw had been ordered and that the
civil authorities would leave on Sunday, July 18. This announcement
was not made until late on Saturday, and immediately began the tumult
of reports of disaster which we who have sat here through thick and
thin know so well. Personally I should have felt no anxiety, for there
seemed no immediate danger on any of the near-by fronts, nor serious
reverses as far as was known here on the more distant fronts; but the
order of evacuation was followed up at once by instructions to the
Consul of Great Britain to be prepared to leave on Monday, while I
believe that the Belgian and French Consuls received similar notices
and are all departing on that day (to-morrow, July 19). The American
Consul, Hernando Desote, who already has the German and Austrian
interests in charge, took over the British interests at twelve o’clock
to-day, and will probably do the same for the interests of the other
Allies represented here in Warsaw.

In the meantime we hear that the Russians are falling back on the
Blonie line, and that Zuradov has already been evacuated, which may or
may not be true. It now seems quite obvious that something has taken
place of which we know nothing, and I have not seen or talked with
an officer who thinks that what is taking place is due to the local
military situation as far as it is known. The general opinion is that
if the Russians retire it is due purely to the fact that they have not
the munitions to maintain a sustained attack of the Germans who seem
to be coming over to this front in increasingly large numbers. For
the observer here it is impossible to know what the Russians have in
their caissons. One who gets about a good deal can make a guess at the
positions, strength and morale of an army, but the matter of munitions
or outside policy is something which cannot be solved by the man at
the front. There is undoubtedly a feeling of great discouragement
here at present, and many believe that the Russians have been bearing
the burden now ever since January, while the Allies for one cause or
another have not been able to start enough of an attack in the west
to prevent the Germans from sending more and ever more troops over here.

[Illustration: Retreat from Warsaw. A Polish Jew. Note his belongings
tied round a cow’s neck.]

Russia certainly has neither the industrial system nor the industrial
temperament to supply herself with what she needs to the same extent
as both France and England. She has been fighting now for months,
with ammunition when she had it, and practically without it when it
failed her. Month after month she has kept up the unequal struggle, and
there are many here who think the greater powers that be are going to
withdraw to a shorter line, and await refilling of their caissons until
the time comes when the Allies can co-operate in the attack on the
common enemy. These matters are purely speculation, however, for here
we know nothing except that the civil evacuation is going on apace, and
that there are many signs which indicate that it may be followed by the
military within a week or ten days.

The Poles are utterly discouraged, the Russians disgusted and, all
things considered, Warsaw at the present writing is a very poor place
for an optimist. We hear to-day that the fire brigade has come back
from Zuradov, where buildings which might be of use to the enemy are
said to have been blown up. Poles have been notified that the Russian
Government would give them free transportation from here, and 14
roubles. Factories which have copper in their equipment have been
dismantled, and many are already in process of being loaded on to cars
for shipment to Russia proper. I am told that the State Bank left
yesterday for Moscow, and that they are collecting all the brass and
copper utensils from the building next door to the hotel. My chauffeur
has just come in and lugubriously announced that benzine has risen
to 15 roubles a pood (I do not know how that figures out in English
equivalent except that it is prohibitory), when we usually pay three.
In addition the soldiers are collecting all private stocks, and there
are few of the privately owned cars in the town that have enough in
their tanks to turn a wheel with. In the meantime another man informs
me that they are tearing down copper telephone and telegraph wires to
points outside of the city, and that our troops are already falling
back on Warsaw. All of this is very annoying to one who has just
finished writing an optimistic story about the situation in the South.

Something like this, then, is the situation in Warsaw on Sunday night,
July 18. It has never been worse so far as I can judge from my point of
view, but I am of the opinion that things are not as bad as they look,
and that successes in the South may yet relieve the tension.

[Illustration: The evacuation of Warsaw. Copper and bells were all
taken away before the Russians left.]




THE LOSS OF WARSAW

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw.]




CHAPTER XXIV

THE LOSS OF WARSAW


  Dated:
  PETROGRAD,
  _August 15, 1915_.

The giving up of Warsaw marks the end of a definite period in the war,
and represents the climax of one of the most remarkable campaigns in
the history of the world. Military records do not present anything
even approaching the effort which in three months has been made by
the enemy. From the moment they began their attack on the Dunajec
line in early May, until their entrance into Warsaw, almost exactly
three months later, their campaign has represented one continuous
attack. Every detail seems to have been arranged, and once the movement
started, men and munitions were fed into the maw of war without
intermission until their objective, Warsaw, was attained. All of this
one must in justice accord the Germans, for it is their due. The
determination and bravery of their soldiers in these three months of
ghastly sacrifice have never faltered.

Their objective has been attained; but when we have said this, our
admiration for a purpose fulfilled stops short. Though obtaining
Warsaw they have not secured the results that they believed Warsaw
represented; and I believe it perfectly safe to say that the capture of
Warsaw, without the inflicting of a crashing blow to the Russian Army,
was perhaps the greatest disappointment to the Germans which this war
has brought them. I know from conversations with many prisoners, that
generally speaking, every soldier in the German Army on this Front felt
that with the capture of the great Polish capital, the war with Russia
was practically finished. It was because this was so earnestly believed
that it was possible to keep driving the soldiers on and on, regardless
of life and of their physical exhaustion.

The German plan involved the destruction of the army. They have the
husk of victory, while the kernel, as has happened many times before in
this war, has slipped from their grasp. Everything that has happened
since Warsaw is in the nature of a secondary campaign, and really
represents an entirely new programme and probably a new objective or
series of objectives. From the wider point of view, the war against
Russia has begun all over again, and for the present it seems unwise to
discuss or prophesy the outcome of the vast operations which have
taken place since August 5. But it is a desperate new undertaking for
Germany to enter upon after her incomparable exertions these last three
months.

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. Ammunition on the road.]

In dealing with such extended operations at this time, it is
impossible to write accurately, because the Front has been so great
that nine-tenths of the information in regard to details is not yet
available. The writer was for the period from July 10 to August 5 in
daily contact with this Front, and in that period motored thousands of
versts, was in practically all of the armies involved in what may be
called the Warsaw movement, and at the positions in innumerable places.
Yet he hesitates to attempt to write anything of an authoritative
nature for the moment, although he believes the rough outline which
follows will prove approximately accurate when the history of the
movement is written from the broader perspective which time only can
bring.

It was the opinion of many observers early in May, including the
writer, that Warsaw was the main objective of the great Galician drive.
The Germans intended first to strengthen the _moral_ of the Austrians
by returning them Galicia, but probably the greatest value of the
capture of Galicia was the position which left the Germans on the
flank of Warsaw. Since last Autumn it has been clear that the Germans
regarded Warsaw as the most important strategic prize on this Front,
and those who have followed the war will recall the constant series of
attacks on the Polish capital. First came their direct advance which
frittered away the middle of December, and left them sticking in the
mud and snow on the Bzura line in Poland, still 50 versts from their
prize. Spasmodic fighting continued until January, when their great
Bolimov drive was undertaken. Beginning in the last days of January
it continued for six consecutive days. We are told that ten divisions
backed by 600 guns attacked practically without interruption for six
days and six nights. I cannot accurately state what the German losses
were, but I know the Russians estimated them to be 100,000.

It was clear that Warsaw was not to be taken from the front, and as
the last gun was being fired on the Bolimov position, the new Prussian
flanking movement was launched in East Prussia. This, though scoring
heavily in its early days, soon dissipated as the Russians adjusted
themselves to the shock. That was followed instantly by another series
of operations directed against Warsaw from the North. This too went
up in smoke, and for several weeks there was a lull, interrupted here
and there by preliminary punches in different parts of the line,
intended to discover weakness which did not appear. By April it was
clear that Warsaw was not vulnerable from the front or North. Then
followed the great Galician campaign which ended with the fall of
Lemberg, and by the end of June left the Germans in their new position
with the southern flank of the armies in Poland prepared for their
final drive for Warsaw on the South. From the light which I have on
this campaign I will try and give the sketch as it has appeared to me.

[Illustration: During the retreat from Warsaw.]

[Illustration: Russian armoured motor-car.]

There is no question that the German strategy aimed not merely at the
capture of Warsaw, but at the destruction or capture of the greater
part of the army defending the Polish capital. The German programme was
carefully prepared, and this time they had no isolated movements, but
two great movements developing simultaneously; one aimed to cut the
Warsaw-Petrograd lines from the North, and the other aimed at Warsaw
from the South. The time which has elapsed is not sufficient, nor is
the information available, to enable one to judge at this time whether
the Northern or Southern movement was the main German objective. I
was in the Cholm-Lublin Army head-quarters just before the heavy
fighting began, and was then of the opinion that the most important
German activity was contemplated on this sector. It is apparent by a
glance at the map, that an overwhelming success here would have been
of incredible importance to the enemy. Had they been able to destroy
this army as they did the one bearing the same number on the Dunajec in
May, they could have moved directly on Brest-Litowsk by Wlodava and cut
the Warsaw line of communications to the direct rear 180 versts away. A
rapid success here would have certainly resulted in just the disaster
that the Germans were hoping would be the outcome of their programme.

The movement on the North from the direction of Mlawa toward
Przasnys-Ciechanow was of course a direct threat on the
Warsaw-Petrograd line of communications. Success here would have forced
the evacuation of the city and a general change of the Russian line;
but even had it been a sweeping one, it had not the potentialities
of the calamity which a similar success on the Cholm line would have
had. Perhaps the Germans estimated both to be of approximately equal
importance, and a double success, occurring simultaneously, would
have undoubtedly repeated the Moukden fiasco on an infinitely larger
scale. It must be remembered that when this movement started, the
Russians in the South were at the end of a gruelling campaign of nearly
two months’ continuous warfare, in which, through lack of munitions,
they were obliged to withdraw under difficult and extremely delicate
circumstances. The army defending the Cholm-Lublin line was in name
the same that had been so very badly cut up six weeks earlier, and the
Germans no doubt believed that every one of the Russian Armies engaged
from the Bukowina to the Vistula had been so badly shaken up that any
effective resistance would be impossible. It was because their estimate
was so far out that their programme was doomed to disappointment.

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. Wounded in a barn outside
Warsaw.]

My own observation of the Russian Armies is that if they are given a
fortnight, or even a week, in which to recuperate, they are good for
a month of continuous fighting. With almost any other army in the
world, after such an experience as the Russians had had for six weeks
in Galicia, the defence on the Cholm-Lublin line would have failed,
and the Germans might well have driven through to Brest in two or
three weeks, as they no doubt firmly believed that they would. But
the Russians on the Cholm-Lublin line had the benefit of interior
lines of communications, and had also the brief breathing space which
enabled them to pull themselves together. Besides this, a new General,
General Loesche, was in command, and with him were an important number
of the best corps in the Russian Army. Excellent field works had been
prepared, and personally, after visiting the positions I felt sure
that whatever the outcome of the German move against him might be, it
would not result in anything like the Dunajec enterprise, nor would
the enemy be able to drive through to Brest with sufficient rapidity
to cut off the retreat of the Warsaw army or those lying south of
it. The movement in the South started with such terrific impetus,
that for several days it seemed possible that in spite of the stamina
and leadership of the Russians the enemy would have their way; but
after ten days of fighting it became clear that though the enemy were
advancing, their progress was going to be of so slow and arduous a
nature that they would never be able to inflict a smashing disaster on
the Russian Armies.

The details of the battles that raged here for weeks would fill a
volume. Although I visited this army several times during this stage,
and was in four different corps on this Front, I have still but the
vaguest outline in my own mind of the fighting except as a whole. Every
day there was something raging on some part of the line, first in one
place and then in another. The Germans used the same practice that
was so successful in Galicia and massed their batteries heavily. This
method, backed by the Prussian Guards, enabled them to take Krasnystav.
The best trenches that I have ever seen in field operations were washed
away in a day by a torrent of big shells. The Russians did not retreat.
They remained and died, and the Germans simply marched through the
hole in the line, making a change of front necessary.

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. German prisoners housed in a
barn. Note the Russian soldiers have German rifles.]

But this time there was no disorganization of the line as a whole. The
moment the Germans were beyond their supporting artillery, the Russian
infantry were at their throats with the bayonet and drove them back.
The fighting from day to day for weeks was a great zig-zag, with German
advances and retreats before Russian counter-attacks. But each advance
left the enemy a little nearer their objective, and it was clear that
slowly but surely they were, by superior forces, vastly superior
supplies of ammunition and a constant flow of reserves, forcing the
Russians back toward the Lublin-Cholm-Kovel line of railroad. It became
equally obvious however after ten days that they would never reach
Brest in time to menace seriously the future of the Warsaw army, even
if they could and would spare the men to turn the trick.

As a fact it became apparent here for almost the first time, that the
Germans in spite of their anxiety to attain their objective, were
endeavouring to spare their troops. For the first time I heard the
general comment among officers, that the artillery was now the main arm
in modern warfare, and the infantry its support. I think this potential
failure of their programme dawned on the Germans even before it did on
the Russians; for while all eyes were still on the Southern Front,
the Germans were reinforcing and pushing their Northern attack which
aimed to hit through Pultusk and Wyszkow to the Petrograd-Warsaw line
at Lochow. Perhaps after the first two weeks in the South this really
was their greatest aim. Personally I think their chance for inflicting
a disaster slipped when they failed to defeat definitely, or destroy
the army of Loesche. To him and to the left flanking corps of Evert,
must be accorded the credit of saving this sector with all its menaces
to the future of the campaign and perhaps the whole European situation.
For the last two weeks before the abandonment of Warsaw, these two
great battles, one in the North and one in the South, were raging
simultaneously.

I left Cholm for the last time on July 22, feeling that the fate of
Warsaw would not be decided from that quarter, and, for the balance
of the campaign, divided my time between the South Vistula armies and
those defending the Narew line. It now became clear that the great
menace lay from the Northern blow, and here we have a very similar
story to that of the Southern army. With terrific drives the enemy took
Przasnys, Ciechanow, Makow and at last Pultusk, and finally succeeded
in getting across the Narew with ten divisions of excellent troops. On
this Front, to the best of my judgment, the Germans at this time had
131 battalions of their very best available troops and perhaps fifteen
reserve battalions with their usual heavy artillery support. When the
crossing of the Narew was accomplished it seemed inevitable that Warsaw
must fall and immediately the civil evacuation of the city began.

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. Artillery on the road.]

It seemed then that the Germans might in a few days drive through to
the railroad, and to save the army in Warsaw an immediate evacuation
in hot haste would prove imperative. But the Russian Army defending
this sector rallied just as their brothers did in the South. The
German drive on Wyszkow took them within 4 versts of the town, while
the Russian counter-attack threw them back fifteen, with heavy losses
in casualties and prisoners. Then there began here the same sort of
slow stubborn fighting that for weeks had been progressing in the
South; only here the German advances were slower, and the attainment
of their objective less certain. About the same time (July 25-26) the
Germans made a try on the Warsaw line itself, but failed miserably,
and abandoned any serious effort against the new Blonie line to which
the Russians, in order to get the most out of their men and to shorten
their line, had withdrawn. It must never be forgotten that the Russian
Front was 1,200 miles long, and the inability to supply it with men
and munitions had made it necessary to shorten their Front to get the
best results from their numbers. It is hard to say what numbers both
belligerents had, and even if I knew exactly our strength the censor
would not pass my statement. I think it safe to say however, that
during these days the Austro-German forces outnumbered the Russians
by at least 50 per cent., counting effectives only. This shortening
left simply Warsaw itself with its Blonie line from Novo-Georgievsk to
Gorakalwara in Russian hands west of the Vistula.

By the 27th-28th of July there came a wave of hope, and those who
had lost all optimism picked up their courage once more. I know from
the very best authority that up to August 1 it was hoped that Warsaw
might still be saved, though every preparation was being made for its
evacuation. The cause of this burst of optimism was due to the fact
that the terrific German blows both North and South were not gaining
the headway that had been expected. Besides, the Russians were getting
more and more ammunition, and it seemed more than possible that the
Germans might fail of their objective if only they did not receive
increasing reinforcements. These two great battles North and South,
each seeming equally important, had drawn everything that could be
spared to either one point or the other. It was clear then that there
must be some link in the chain weaker than the others, and the
Germans set out to find this.

[Illustration: During the retreat from Warsaw. Note wounded man.]

Without weakening for a moment their attacks on their main objectives,
they began (with new reinforcements) to spear about for a point against
which to launch still a third attack. Several attempts disclosed the
Russians in strength, but at last the enemy discovered that the weakest
spot was on the Vistula south of Warsaw. As this was the easiest to
defend on account of the river being approximately the line, the
Russians had fewer troops and thus the Germans were able to effect a
crossing of the river. I am not able to state absolutely the day or the
place of crossing, but I am inclined to place it about July 27-28, and
I think the first crossing was near the mouth of the Radomika, while I
believe another was made about the same date somewhere near the mouth
of the Pilica river. The enemy gained an initial advantage at first,
but as usual was driven back by a counter-attack, though he still held
his position on the East bank of the river.

At this time, as nearly as I can estimate, there were four Russian army
corps defending the Blonie line from Novo-Georgievsk to Gorakalwara.
With this strength the few sporadic attacks of the Germans were futile.
When the first crossing of the Vistula developed, the corps which
stood near Gorakalwara crossed the river and countered the northerly
crossing, while troops from the neighbouring army to the South, covered
the menace on that portion of the line, and it was believed that the
enemy had failed here in his objective which it was thought was the
Warsaw-Brest line at Nova Minsk. It was believed and probably rightly,
that even the three remaining corps on the Blonie line could hold that
front, and that the balance had been re-established, for the Russians
hoped that the Germans had in their fighting line all the loose
formations which were immediately available. About July 30-August 1,
the Germans developed three new divisions (believed to have come from
France), and these crossed the river, giving them practically two whole
corps against half the strength of Russians. It is possible that even
these odds might have been overcome by the stubbornness of the Russian
soldier, but the Russians learned that three Austrian divisions, said
to have come from the Serbian Front were available in immediate support.

[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. One of the last regiments to
pass through Warsaw.]

From this moment it was evident that Warsaw was doomed. To weaken the
Front on the Blonie line meant a break there, and re-inforcements
could not be sent either from the Narew line or the Southern Front
where actions still raged. It was then clearly a mate in a few moves,
if the Russians waited for it. But they did not. Instantly began
their military evacuation, the cleverness of which must I think
be credited to Alexieff and his brilliant Chief of Staff Goulevitch.
Those of us who have been studying the Warsaw situation for ten months,
imagined that when the evacuation came, if it ever did, it would be
through the city. What happened was entirely unexpected. The corps at
Gorakalwara slipped over the river on pontoon bridges in the night,
supporting the first corps that was already there, effecting the double
purpose of getting out of the Warsaw zone, and simultaneously coming
in between the Germans and the line of retreat toward Brest. About
the same time the corps that lay next to the Vistula, on the Northern
end of the Blonie line, slipped out over pontoon bridges and went to
support the Narew defenders, thus making impossible the immediate
breaking of that line. On August 4, by noon, there was probably not
over one corps on the West side of the Vistula. Half of that crossed
south of Warsaw before six, and probably the last division left about
midnight, and at three a.m. the bridges were blown up. The Germans
arrived at six in the morning, which seemed to indicate that they were
not even in touch with the Russian rearguard at the end.

What I have written above is to the best of my information the outline
of the Warsaw situation, but it may be in details somewhat inaccurate,
though I think the main points are correct. In any case there is no
question that the whole withdrawal was cleverly accomplished, and in
perfect order, and that when the Germans finally closed in, they found
an abandoned city. Their reports of having carried Warsaw by storm are
undoubtedly true to the extent that they were in contact with some
of the last troops to leave. Probably the trenches that they carried
by storm were held by a battalion or two of soldiers protecting the
rearguard. That the great body had gone long before the Germans know
perfectly well, and their claims of having carried the city by assault
would, I dare say, bring a smile even to the stolid face of the German
soldier.

During all these operations the Germans had at least five shells to
the Russians, one, and but for this great superiority they never would
have pushed back either the line of the Narew or the Cholm-Lublin line.
Russia could not convert her resources into ammunition, and Germany,
who for forty years has lived for this day, could. To this fact she
owes her capture of Warsaw. The Allies may be assured that Russia
stayed until the last minute and the last shell, and then extricated
herself from an extremely dangerous position, leaving the enemy to
pounce on the empty husk of a city from which had been taken every
movable thing of military value. The defence of and final escape from
Warsaw is one of the most spectacular and courageous bits of warfare
that history presents, and undoubtedly the fair-minded German admits it
in his own heart regardless of the published statements of the Staff.

[Illustration: Siberians leaving the last trench before Warsaw.]




CONCLUSION

[Illustration: A batch of German prisoners captured during the retreat
from Warsaw.]




CHAPTER XXV

CONCLUSION


  Dated:
  PETROGRAD,
  _September 2, 1915_.

A great deal has happened since the Fall of Warsaw which one must
regret, but at the same time the incidents or disasters must be viewed
in their proper perspective. The loss of Kovno, Novo-Georgievsk and
many other positions are all unfortunate, but must I think be taken
as by-products of the loss of Warsaw. With these enormous extended
fronts which modern war presents for the same time, there always
develop certain points on the line which may be called keystones. In
the Galician campaign, the Dunajec line and Gorlice was the keystone.
Once this was pulled out and a number of corps eliminated, the whole
vast line from the Vistula to the Bukovina was thrown into a state of
oscillation. Once the withdrawal of one army started, the whole line,
even to the Warsaw Front, was affected. Armies such as the Bukovina
army, which was actually advancing for ten days after the first attack
began hundreds of miles away, first halted and finally had to come
back to maintain the symmetry of the whole. A great Front, changing
over hundreds of versts, means that the whole line can stop only when
the weakest unit can stop. A chain is no stronger than its weakest link
and the same is roughly true of a Front.

We saw this clearly in Galicia. It has been apparent to every one that
Warsaw was the keystone of the campaign in Poland. Once Warsaw was
given up under the conditions which then existed, everything that has
happened could have been foreseen. It was clear to all on this Front
who had followed these movements closely, that the next line would
be far in the rear, and that when the general change of Front came,
many places would have to be sacrificed. Novo-Georgievsh as a matter
of course was doomed. Its function was to protect the flank of the
Warsaw defences. It actually held out for two weeks after Warsaw was
abandoned, and this delay to the Germans enabled the Russians to get
their army clear of a dangerously active pursuit. Fortresses in modern
war must, as many believe, be regarded as checks to the mobility of an
enemy, rather than as permanent blocks to his progress. Noro-Georgievsh
was this, and certainly justified the loss of the garrison and the
cost of its construction. Liége is a still better example. Certainly
no fortress can withstand modern big guns, and if by their sacrifice
they play their part in the game, they have more than served their
ends. To hold on to a fortress with a large garrison only magnifies
its importance, creates a bad moral effect when it falls, and entails
the loss of a field army. Perhaps the Austrian conduct of Przemysl
will become the historic warning in future wars as what not to do with
fortresses. From an extremely intimate contact of the terrain, I felt
certain that the next jump from Warsaw would be Brest-Litowsk. I had
visited that place five or six times and felt equally sure that if
the Germans made a definite bid for it, it would not be defended. The
Russians knew this, and in the army there was no keen disappointment at
its loss; for I think no one who knew conditions expected that there
would be a big battle there, though many believed that the enemy would
never try seriously to go further. That they have done so is looked
upon by many as a mistake of the Germans. Time only can tell. The
Russians are now on the move to another line. The enemy may continue to
follow, but in this district one does not see any point the capture of
which can have any great benefit which they could ensure before winter
sets in. The only result which can seriously assist them is the capture
of Petrograd, and even this would not, I believe, insure a peace with
Russia.

[Illustration: Refugees on the road to Brest-Litovsk.]

As a matter of fact it seems to the writer pretty certain that the
enemy will not reach half way to Petrograd before the winter sets in,
and after that its capture is increasingly unlikely. Once one has left
the Front one obtains more accurate news as to the situation on this
line of battle from the foreign papers than from any other source. In
Petrograd, in civilian circles, there is great pessimism as to the
military situation, but this is not shared by those who are in the
confidence of the highest authorities. The only danger that seriously
and immediately menaces the Russians is rapidly passing away. It was
dangerous because it was insidious. It is certainly worth discussion.

It was of course to be expected that the moment the Russian Armies left
Warsaw and the entire line began to retire on new positions, there
should be a period of great ambiguity. For several weeks the armies
were in constant movement, and from day to day their exact positions
were uncertain. As they went back, they obviously left many towns and
positions behind them, with the result that for weeks the Germans have
been having a continuous celebration over their advances. During this
period very little news was available in Petrograd, which at the best
is pessimistic and quick to jump at conclusions of disaster. There
is here, as all the world knows, an enormous German influence, and
whenever the military situation is in the least ambiguous, there
start immediately in a thousand different quarters reports of disaster
which in an hour are all over Petrograd. That these reports originate
from German sympathizers is hardly questioned, and that the whole
propaganda is well organized is equally certain.

[Illustration: Roll call during the retreat from Warsaw. All that was
left of them.]

The past two weeks has found Petrograd in a receptive mood for gloomy
news, and inasmuch as nothing of a favourable nature has come from the
Russian Army, the German propaganda of insidious and subtle rumours and
reports has run through the city like a prairie fire after a drought.
Three main themes have been worked up and circulated for all that they
would stand. It was said first that there was lack of harmony among the
Allies, and that the Russian high authorities were not satisfied with
the conduct of the war in the West. The corollary of this of course was
that without harmony the cause was lost. Next came the assertion that
the army was demoralized, and had lost hope and therefore wanted peace.
Then the shortage of ammunition was magnified until half the gullible
population were almost willing to believe that the army were fighting
with pitchforks and shotguns. Out of all this came the assertion that
peace was inevitable and that the Germans would take Petrograd. For
a week or more these topics circulated and grew with such alarming
rapidity that at last the Government was obliged to take notice of the
propaganda, which was finally squelched by a statement issued to _The
Times_ and the Russian Press by M. Serge Sazonov, the distinguished and
clever minister of Foreign Affairs.

In this interview the Russian statesman, speaking for the Government,
made a categorical denial of the slanders against the Government
and the Russian people. He stated without reservation that there
was not now, nor had there ever been, a lack of harmony between the
military or civil authorities of the Allies, and announced that the
Russian Government not only approved of, but had implicit faith in the
programme of the Allies in the West. He then discussed the munitions
question, and asserted that all steps were being taken to fill
depletions in all branches of the army requirements, and lastly he
stated once and for ever that there would be no independent peace with
Germany while a single German soldier remained on Russian soil and that
the war would continue even if the Government were obliged to retire to
the heart of Russia and the contest continued for years to come. This
statement has had an immediate effect on the local panic-mongers here,
and for the moment there is a lull in the German propaganda.

[Illustration: Resting during the retreat from Warsaw.]

In the meantime it is becoming obvious that the Germans in spite of
their following up of the retiring Russians are not likely to
achieve any successes which can immediately affect the political
situation. If they take Riga and Grodno, and even Vilna, they have
done their worst for some months to come, and one cannot see what they
can accomplish further before winter sets in. If the campaign at this
stage were in June one might feel apprehensive of Petrograd, but under
the most favourable conditions it is difficult to see how the Germans
can get even halfway here before November. By that time they will be
on the verge of the winter with the ground freezing so deeply that
intrenching is difficult, if not impossible, and every advance must be
made with terrific losses. Their attempts to conduct warfare in Poland
(a much milder climate) in winter, are too recent a memory to lead one
to believe they will repeat it here. It will be remembered that their
advance on the Bzura-Rawka line froze up when winter came, and the
sacrifice of thousands did not advance them materially at that point
in spite of their most determined efforts. I think one may say, then,
that what the Germans cannot accomplish before November they will not
attempt until Spring. The pessimism and hopelessness of Petrograd seem
to be on the wane, and the reports from the Front now arriving do not
indicate either demoralization or despair in the army.

Probably one must expect retirements and rearguard actions for some
weeks to come. Ultimately the Russians will settle down on some new
line from which it is extremely unlikely that they can be driven before
the winter sets in. One hesitates to make any prophecies, as conditions
change so rapidly that it is always dangerous to do so, but perhaps it
is safe to say that with the coming of the winter and the definite lull
in the campaign which will follow, the Russians will have passed their
crisis. Given four months of rest and recuperation we shall have an
entirely new situation in the beginning of next year which will present
an entirely new problem. It will really mean the starting of a new war
with new objectives and practically with a new and re-equipped army.

There may be those who are disappointed, but history, I believe,
will conclude that this summer campaign of the Russians has been the
greatest factor so far in the war making for the ultimate victory
of the Allies. For nearly four months Germany has been drained of
her best. Men and resources have been poured on this Front since
May regardless of cost. Autumn approaches with the armies in being,
undemoralized and preparing to do it all over again. In the meantime
the Allies are preparing to begin on the West, or at least it is
generally so believed. When they do at last start, Germany will for
months be occupied in protecting herself, and will probably be unable
to act so vigorously here. If Russia gets over the period of the
next sixty days, she will be safe until Spring, and by that time she
will without doubt be able to take up an offensive in her turn.

[Illustration: Wounded returning to Warsaw.]

[Illustration: On the banks of the River Dniester. Cossack snipers in
the woods overlooking the river.]

After months of observation of the Germans it is folly to speculate on
how long they can stand this pace. It may be for six months, and it
may be for two years, but with the Allies patiently wearing down the
enemy month after month and year after year there can be but one end.
That Russia has played her part, and played it heroically, I think no
one, even the Germans themselves, can deny. There are some that like to
believe that the enemy will try to get Moscow and Kiev before winter
sets in. The former objective seems impossible, and the latter even
if obtained would, I believe, in no way compensate the enemy for his
sacrifices, for the nature of the country is such that all advances
could only be at terrific cost. Besides, Kiev, even if taken, would
not, I think, have any tangible effect on forcing Russia to make peace,
and this end alone can justify the Germans in making further huge
sacrifices.

There are many who maintain that Russia will find it difficult to
reconquer Galicia and Poland. Probably she will never have to do so.
It is perfectly possible that when the end comes, Germany will still
be on the territory of France, Belgium, and Russia. Peace will bring
back instantly all of these provinces without any fighting at all. It
matters not, then, whether Germany is broken while still in the heart
of Russia or under the walls of Berlin itself. The task is to break the
enemy and that this will be done eventually I think cannot be doubted.
It is the stamina, the character and the resources of the Allies that
in the end will decide this war, and nothing is more unwise than to
judge the situation from the study of pins moved back and forward on
the map of Europe.


    Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Frome and London




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Transcriber's note:

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.